


Out of Time

by MaggieMaybe160



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Angst, Angst and Feels, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Art, BAMF Castiel (Supernatural), Ballroom Dancing, Barebacking, Bisexual Dean Winchester, Bittersweet Ending, Blood, Blood and Injury, Bottom Dean Winchester, Canon Universe, Car Sex, Castiel's Handprint (Supernatural), Castiel/Dean Winchester First Kiss, Child Death, Child Murder, Courting Rituals, Dancing, Dildos, Domestic Bliss, Domestic Castiel/Dean Winchester, Domestic Fluff, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Falling In Love, First Kiss, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Smut, Grief/Mourning, Handprint Kink (Supernatural), Heavy Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Torture, Just Married, Love, Love Confessions, M/M, Marriage, Marriage Proposal, Married Life, Married Sex, Memories, Minor Character Death, Murder, Nephilim, Oaths & Vows, Painting, Piano, Piano Sex, Pregnancy, Pregnant Castiel (Supernatural), Pregnant Sex, Protective Dean Winchester, Quote: Dude. On my car. He showed up naked covered in bees. (Supernatural), Regency, Regency Romance, Secret Relationship, Smut, Time Travel, Top Castiel/Bottom Dean Winchester, Torture, True Love, Unplanned Pregnancy, Vaginal Fingering, Vaginal Sex, Wedding Fluff, Weddings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-13
Updated: 2020-09-13
Packaged: 2021-03-05 21:53:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 22
Words: 62,099
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25922392
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MaggieMaybe160/pseuds/MaggieMaybe160
Summary: Team Free Will is fighting with angels when Dean is sent back in time to 1812. His only hope of trying to get back to the present is to work with Cas who is currently inhabiting a female vessel and 8th great aunt to Jimmy Novak. But the more time they spend together, the less Dean wants to return to his own time.Castiel is in 1812 to stop a prophecy that foretells the conception of a nephilim. She loses sight of her purpose on Earth when Dean Winchester stumbles into the ballroom she happens to be in. The two are swept up in a heated romance that defies time and Heaven which ultimately ends up fulfilling the prophecy that brought Castiel to 1812 in the first place.
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester
Comments: 105
Kudos: 203
Collections: SPN Regency Big Bang 2020, The Destiel Fan Survey Favs Collection





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> The artwork this fic recieved breaks my heart it's so beautiful. Thank you so much, [Diminuel](https://diminuel.tumblr.com/)! I loved getting to talk to you about the fic and figuring out the art! Each time you sent me even just a sketch, I died. I love it so much. Thank you. 
> 
> A huge thank you to my beta, [insominia](https://archiveofourown.org/users/insominia/pseuds/insominia). I don't think I've ever turned someone who didn't read angst into an angst-addict before. I had so much fun working on this in large part to your cheerleading and reactions.

The last thing Dean remembers is fighting in a warehouse. It was the Winchesters versus the wrath of Heaven kind of battle. Angel blades flashed. Powerful Enochian spells were thrown. Dean had almost been hit, but Cas had shoved him out of harm’s way. He remembers hearing Cas yelling his name and then two powerful strikes directly into his chest as he’d stared into the deep blue eyes that held his heart and soul. Blue that swirled with galaxies, clear skies, and secrets of time. And then Dean’s world had faded to black, his name in Cas’ desperate shouts the only thing he could cling to. 

“Cas!” Dean pants breathlessly as he sits up. He’s nowhere near the battle. Where the fuck is he? He looks around, confusion twisting his stomach into knots. Candles glitter around the room and everything looks fancy and old-fashioned. There’s violin music playing somewhere and the sounds of laughter and idle chatter. Dean looks down and is confused by the two things he sees. One is a fainting couch. The kind from black and white movies that he used to watch on motel tv’s at three in the morning when he couldn’t sleep. Movies with hopeless romantics and swooning women, their corsets tight and their smelling salts handy. The second is his outfit. He’s dressed in clothes that he would never wear. The only word that comes to mind is pantaloons. The coat is nice if not snug. He’s used to loose jackets and jeans. Right now, he’s strapped up tight in a waist-coat and cravat. 

“What the fuck?” he mutters, standing up to inspect his outfit as he spins in circles. The tails of his coat swish and he smiles a little at it. That’s fun and completely ridiculous. His boots make that pleasing noise on the hardwood floor. So it’s not the worst outfit he’s ever found himself in. He crosses the room to a mirror and inspects himself. He looks gentlemanly and a little strange. His hair, though not gelled, looks kind of awesome. He can work with this until he finds Sam and Cas. 

He walks to the double doors that have been shielding him from whatever weird party is happening on the other side and takes a deep breath. If he’s here, Sam and Cas should be too. He just has to find them and figure out what the fuck is going on. He opens the door and wonders how he was transported to the pages of a Jane Austen novel. Not that he’s read any of those. Only Pride and Prejudice. And Sense and Sensibility. Okay, so he’s read a few, but that still didn’t bode well for him if he was suddenly at a ball from one of those books. How did he get here?

The room is filled with people. Ladies with their hair done, their cheeks pinched pink, their hair curled and done up with ribbons and pearls. Men with the same kind of getup that Dean’s in. Again, the word that comes to mind is pantaloons. There are two lines of people and a weird sort of dance happening. 

“Mr. Winchester,” someone greets in a British accent as he steps into the room. He gives them a sideways glance, his face probably scrunched up with confused discomfort. He keeps moving, his eyes darting around to try to find Sam. It’s usually not this hard as Sam towers over any crowd, but he appears to not even be here. 

Ladies cover their giggles with gloved hands as he walks by them, their eyes lit up with quiet flirtation. He can hear some of the older people muttering about how he must be unwell. How he seems off. Someone suggests that he’s ill. Perhaps he’s just had a row with someone? 

Dean ignores this, still scanning the crowd of unfamiliar faces and period wear until he sees her. His eyes lock with blue. Blue of the oceans. Blue of the flowers and streams. Blue that is matched only by one other person he’s ever met. Her raven hair is perfectly done, curled tendrils framing her beautiful face. The rest is curled and braided in what must be fashionable for this party. Cas. It has to be. His heart racing, Dean crosses the room to her. 

“Mr. Winchester, this is my daughter, Grace Novak,” a woman he doesn’t see introduces him. The rest of the room is both faded and brighter. 

“Castiel,” Dean breathes. He’d meant to say it normally, but he couldn’t manage much more. 

“Yes,” she answers so softly he’s not sure anyone else heard her. 

“Uh, can we talk?” 

Mrs. Novak’s eyes bulge. He can’t tell it’s a reaction to his out of place accent or his lack of courtesy. Her lips pinch together and Cas tries to hide her smile. 

“Are you asking me to dance, sir?” Castiel asks, her voice sweet. Her mother looks like she’s about to die of a heart attack. 

“Sorry. Yeah.” 

The current dance is ending, the partners curtsying and bowing to one another. Castiel walks away with him, following him across the dance floor. 

“How is it that you know my true name, Mr. Winchester?’ she asks in a whisper as they walk together toward the front of the room. It occurs to him that this Castiel doesn’t know him. He’s not in the pages of a book. He’s not somehow in a movie. He’s been sent back in time and he’s meeting Castiel before Cas ever laid a hand on him in Hell. 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he says as she releases his arm to stand in the line across from him. The second realization hits him. He doesn’t actually know how to do any of these dances. He doesn’t even want to dance, really. He wants to ask Cas if she can get him the hell out of here and back to his Cas. Back to his fight. He glances at the door that he came out of and wonders how inappropriate everyone would find it if he took Cas back there to talk. Probably very and her reputation would be ruined. 

The dance begins and Dean watches the other men for his cues on how to dance. It’s a lot of fancy footwork and he steps on his own foot more than once. 

“Do you not know how to dance, Mr. Winchester?” she asks softly as they pass each other. She’s graceful and moves like the steps are programmed into her feet. Dean continues to stumble and falter. His cheeks burn with the heat of embarrassment as she literally dances circles around him. 

“No, not really,” he admits. His dancing is limited to his air guitar and head bobbing as he drums his hands on the steering wheel of his 1967 Impala that hasn’t even been conceptualized yet. He’s sort of danced drunkenly at bars but that was far from what was expected of him here. 

“Are you feeling quite well?” As she asks this, they both have to walk around the outside of the lines to end up at the opposite end. He watches her as he goes, unwilling to take his eyes off of her in case she disappears. 

They take their places at the back of the line. “Why?” It is ridiculously hard to keep up a private conversation in whatever kind of conga line this is. They’re either too far apart for it to be private or they’re close enough to whisper but only for a moment. How long until the lights dim and the cheesy romance gets turned on so people can stand awkwardly close and sway together like they’re in middle school? That’s the kind of dancing Dean needs right now so he can ask Cas to send him back. 

“If I didn’t know better,” she says as they step to the center and hold hands, “I’d say you were a man out of time.” 

“We need to talk.” Dean keeps his eyes forward as he knows he’s supposed to. He wonders if there are any other angels in attendance or if anyone can hear their conversation. He can see her nod out of the corner of his eye and feels relief wash over him. He can go home. 

When the dance is over, she curtsies to him as he bows his head. When he looks back up, she’s started walking back toward where her mother is beaming with pride. “Where are you going?” 

“We cannot speak now and if you don’t choose another partner, people will think you have affections for me.” Her eyes are as intense as Dean’s Cas from the future and they burn through him. 

“What if I do have affections for you?” Her cheeks tinge pink and the corners of her mouth pull up for a moment in a private smile meant just for him. Or he imagined it. 

It feels weird flirting with this Cas. His own Cas is fighting a battle in the future. His own Cas that after too many years of unspoken desires, they’d finally told the truth. At least to each other. No one else knew about them. Dean had an angel back home that liked to kiss each freckle on Dean’s skin and whisper love-laced Enochian in his ear as they laid in each other’s arms. It was a secret, but they belonged to each other. And here was his angel, in another time, another vessel, but just the same. The same piercing gaze and stoic manner just without the recognition that Dean was so used to seeing in those eyes. 

“Then we’ll dance again later,” she promises with a courteous nod. “Mr. Winchester.” 

He doesn’t know where else to go, but he’s obviously not allowed to just stand by her side the entire night, especially with the way her mother is whispering to her excitedly. He starts walking back to the room he woke up in but stops himself. He stays standing in the crowd that lines the ballroom and mimics the other men. Their backs are straight, their chests puffed out a bit in a strange mating dance sort of way, and some of them have their idle hands behind their backs. Dean does his best to copy and probably only succeeds in looking ridiculous rather than proper. When he looks back across the room, Castiel is watching him. 

Two men walk up to Mrs. Novak and Castiel and start talking. Cas looks away from Dean to say something to the men in front of her. He watches as Cas steps away from her mother again, this time with someone else. Jealousy invades, seeping into his veins even though Castiel’s eyes always return to him rather than the man she’s dancing with. It’s only just started and Dean is counting the seconds until the dance is over so he doesn’t have to watch someone else who actually knows the steps attempt to woo his lady. She’s not even his. Not for over a century will she be his and he hers. And still, he wants to pull a George Bailey, stepping into the dance to steal the lady and ask the other man to stop annoying people. It’s a Wonderful Life still has a century before it’s even filmed. 

The man attempts speaking or flirting, not that Dean can hear it. He only knows because his mouth is moving. Castiel doesn’t seem to care or notice. Her dance partner follows her gaze to Dean before looking back at her. Dean doesn’t back down, his jaw set and face remaining unreadable as he keeps his gaze on Castiel and the man who is failing miserably at getting her to forget Dean. Unfortunately, even thrown off by Dean, the man doesn’t miss a step. He may be better at dancing, but it’s not helping him in the way of wooing this lady. 

“Mr. Winchester,” an older gentleman says, tearing Dean’s attention away from the dance. 

“Yes?” 

“There are many lovely young ladies here tonight,” he ventures, waggling his eyebrows and glancing around the room. Dean looks and sees the giggling girls again. Some of them are looking at him. He keeps himself from looking back at Castiel. 

“Going to dance with any of ‘em?” Dean asks because he clearly has no intention of even speaking to anyone besides Castiel. The man looks shocked for a moment and then laughs. 

“My heavens, no.” When Dean doesn’t join in with the laughter, he asks, “Are you feeling quite well, sir?” 

“Fine.” The music dies down and Dean turns quickly to see the dance end. “Excuse me,” he says over his shoulder as he makes his way back to Castiel. “I sat out one dance. Can I have the next?” 

“This is my last dance for the night and it belongs to you, Mr. Winchester.” She takes his arm again. “I will be in town tomorrow to buy some ribbon.” What the hell does he care about ribbon? He glances at her, his brow furrowed. “If you should still wish to talk, that is.” 

The dance goes by too quickly which is both a blessing and a curse. Dean still can’t manage the steps, but he doesn’t want to watch Castiel walk out of this room and away from him with only the promise of tomorrow. But he does. He even stands by the carriages as she and her mother step into theirs. He watches as Castiel waves to him from her window before riding off into the night. He decides that now is as good a time as any to find out where he lives. 

His own carriage is brought around for him and he steps into it alone. What he wouldn’t give to just have Baby here so he could take a long drive and take in everything around him at his own pace while blasting some AC/DC and Metallica. He pulls off the coat and whips it onto the seat opposite him before pulling out a jeweled pin from his cravat and yanking at his numerous collars so he can breathe because it’s just now hitting him that he’s stuck back in time without his brother, without his lover, without his car. 

He starts to hyperventilate but Sam isn’t there to tell him to calm down and take deep, even breaths. He pulls open the curtain on his window and lets the cold air hit his face as he closes his eyes and tries to relax. He can do this. He just has to make it to the ribbon shop tomorrow to meet with Cas. 

He opens his eyes when the carriage comes to a stop. Outside is a massive manor. This can’t be his home. He looks around his empty carriage and back out the window. Who the hell owns this place? The chauffeur opens the door and Dean reluctantly steps out. 

“Is this..?” Dean gestures to the mansion. “...mine?” 

“Indeed, sir,” the chauffeur responds automatically. 

“Awesome.” Dean walks up to the massive doors that open before he can touch them. Maids? A butler? A fucking mansion? “Awesome,” he says again because really there’s nothing else he can say. He walks around taking in everything. The massive rooms with art on the walls. A room with a piano, a table for playing cards, and couches. Another room with a dining table for twenty at least. Candlesticks and tapestries. He runs his fingers along the wall as if to remind him that this is all real. He stops when he finds a door that has a symbol he knows too well. He runs his fingers over the Men of Letters symbol and promises himself that he’ll look behind the door tomorrow. 

“Where’s my room?” he asks, turning around to face the butler. 

“Upstairs, sir.” He starts walking and Dean follows him. Everyone probably thinks he’s drunk. Talking strangely and not knowing his own house. 

The room is bigger than any motel Dean had ever stayed at. There’s what he would probably consider a king-sized four-poster bed, a fireplace that’s already burning, a fainting couch and vanity, and too much more. Laid out for him is a nightgown. 

One of the members of his staff, he doesn’t know titles and isn’t going to pretend he does, helps him undress and get into his nightgown. He makes a mental note to never speak about this when he gets back to his own time. It feels better than he thought it would. Breezy. He climbs into his massive bed and watches as his clothes are put away carefully and the candles are snuffed out. 

He takes a deep breath and closes his eyes. Maybe he won’t even wake up here tomorrow. Maybe this has all been a weird dream and he’ll wake up in bed next to Cas. Maybe he’ll wake up in the infirmary at the Bunker and find out that they won the fight but he got knocked out and severely injured. He’ll get to tell Cas about his weird fever dream about how he was a gorgeous woman who flirted with him at a ball. 

As he drifts off to sleep, he dreams of blue. 


	2. Chapter 2

Dean plays with his hat in the privacy of his carriage. He’s never worn a top hat and he finds it just as amusing as his coattails and pants. The ride into town is a lot longer than he thought it would be. He spends a lot of the time staring out the window at the sweeping countryside. The rolling hills of green that remind him of scenic routes he takes on hunts back home. There are cottages and manors off in the distance that he wonders about. He doesn’t know anyone but one lady and her mother and he has no idea where they live. For all he knows, they could be neighbors, their home just down the road and Castiel had to take a long ride into town too. Or she lives within walking distance of this ribbon shop. Some of the places he passes could be mini castles. The kind that are haunted both in the figurative and literal sense. 

When he’s not staring out the window imagining the ghosts that may or may not haunt these houses he passes, he flips his hat and practices party tricks with it. He takes it off, bouncing it down the length of his arm before flipping it back up and having it land on his head. He grabs his lapels and sticks out his chest, failing at stifling his laughter. 

“Four score and seven years from now, I’ll have a funny hat,” Dean jokes to himself. “Wait, when is now? Is he even alive? Am I joking about Babe-raham Lincoln while he’s alive?” Dean busts up laughing thinking about the fact that he’s probably in the same time period as Lincoln. His laughter dies down when he thinks about how different everything is. Most of the things he was forced to learn in school before he’d dropped out haven’t even happened yet. 

When he arrives in town, he steps out of his carriage and starts walking in the direction of the shops. There are people milling about with baskets and bonnets on. The dresses are less elaborate than he saw last night, most of them plain. The bonnets hide the hair that’s probably still done up with curls and braids. As Dean approaches, the ladies still giggle and smile, blushing and whispering excitedly to each other. 

“Ladies,” Dean greets them as he passes. He wonders if Castiel has even made it to town yet. It’s not like she gave him a time. He wanders through town, window shopping and trying not to look too obvious in his attempt to keep an eye out for Castiel. 

When he sees her, she’s coming out of the ribbon shop with nothing but an empty basket. Her clothes may be plain, but she never will be. The hat she’s wearing covers most of her dark hair. All but the curls that remain are coiled perfectly to frame her face. She has a tan coat on that’s only for her arms and chest so the rest of her white and flowered dress can be seen. It reminds Dean of Cas’ trench coat and he swallows hard.

“Castiel,” he says as he approaches her. It’s awkward using the full name. He’s so used to just saying Cas, but he doesn’t want to scare her away with too much familiarity. He may know her, but she certainly doesn’t know him. 

“Miss Novak,” she corrects him, “at least while we’re here.” She looks around as if to point out that there are too many other people around without raising suspicion. 

“Miss Novak.” He clears his throat and falls into step beside her. “I do really need to talk to you.” 

“What could you need to talk to me about, Mr. Winchester?” she asks as they walk through the town. He realizes she’s leading him away from the people without drawing prying eyes. 

“You said I was a man out of time last night.” She nods without looking at him, her eyes on the path ahead of them. “I am. I was in a fight with some angels and I got hit with some kind of spell I think.”

“You must be a hunter.” He can’t tell if she’s just stating what she’s gathered or if it’s veiled with wary suspicion. Part of him wants to tell her that in the future, he knows her. In the future, they’re best friends and they fight side by side rather than on opposing teams. He keeps his mouth shut. 

“I need you to send me back.” 

There’s a beat of silence before she answers. It feels like an eternity. “What makes you think that I can? Besides the obvious fact that you already know what I am. That’s a powerful spell. One I’m not sure I could perform.” 

Dean can recall Cas sending him back to meet his parents Back to the Future style, but it had been years since Cas had done anything like that. 

“Would you try?” he asks, ignoring her question because he can’t answer it without giving away the punchline. 

“I can try,” she agrees. “What if it fails? What do you intend to do then?”   


“Find another way.” He shrugs which feels awkward in his tight clothing. “I think I have an entire library from the Men of Letters.” 

She stops walking to look up and him, squinting with mild confusion and making his chest tighten. “You think?” 

“I haven’t looked yet. So will you help me?” 

“I will come to your manor for tea and tell my family I was invited.” She dips into a curtsy and abruptly starts walking in the other direction. 

Right. Tea. Perfect. Except it dawns on him that he has no idea when tea is which means he has no idea when to expect her back at his manor. “When is tea?” he calls after her. 

“Two!” she calls back, smiling a little like he’s caught her off-guard with how little he actually knows about the time period he’s been dropped into. 

“Two,” he mumbles to himself, knowing full well he has the dopey grin of a guy who knows he’s about to go home to see his boyfriend again. He would run back to his carriage if it wouldn’t draw everyone’s attention. Instead, he walks quickly and tips his hat. People are not whispering excitedly about Mr. Winchester and Miss Novak. 

“Oops,” one lady who he recognizes from the ball says as he passes. She’s dropped something on purpose. So that trick goes back this far? He picks it up for her and she smiles flirtatiously, thanking him. He nods and heads back to the carriage. Back to the manor. And hopefully back to Cas.   


“We’re having Miss Novak for tea!” Dean announces as he walks into his manor. 

“Very good, sir,” the butler says with a bow of his head. 

“That’s at two,” he informs everyone proudly. They all look like this much was obvious and quickly cover their looks of worry and confusion. “What time is it?” he pats himself down, looking for his phone that he knows isn’t there, but it’s all he can do. He feels something in his pocket and pulls out a pocket watch. “Ah! I know what this is!” He fumbles with it as he tries to make it open. It won’t budge. He holds it out to his butler. “Can you open this?” he asks sheepishly. 

The butler takes it and it pops open immediately. No one says anything as Dean takes it back with a muttered and highly embarrassed, “Thanks.” 

“Who will be accompanying Miss Novak, sir?” 

“Say what?” She said nothing about anyone else. She knew this was private. They just need to work the angel mojo and send him back. That doesn’t call for anyone else. “Oooooone?” He guesses slowly. 

“Pardon me, sir?” 

“One other person,” he says a little more confidently. “Their name escapes me. I’m sorry.” He snaps the pocket watch closed again even though he doesn’t remember the time it read and walks away to save himself from more embarrassment. 

“Where will you be taking tea, sir?” 

“What?” Dean spins around to face the staff again. 

“Where will you be taking tea?” the butler asks again.

“The… tea room?” he guesses. He waves his hand vaguely hoping that helps. It obviously does nothing as no one moves or says anything, their faces all match in the amount of confusion visible. “Outside? Can we go outside? Is there an outside? Like a porch? I guess?”

“The verandah. Excellent choice, sir.” 

Dean turns around again and drags a hand down his burning face before he starts up the stairs to go hide in his room and figure out how to open this damn watch again. 

When Dean figures out how to open the watch, he yelps with excitement at this feat of strength before he sees that it’s almost two. He shoves it back into his pocket and goes to his mirror to make sure he’s not a total mess after running his hands through his hair repeatedly out of frustration. 

“Na-na na-na na-na-na nuh,” Dean sings to himself, tapping his foot as he fixes his hair. He hums it again as he goes to his bedroom door and flings it open dramatically. “Just take those old records off the shelf! I sit and listen to ‘em by myself!” He struts through the hallway, feeling the coattails against his legs. “Today’s music ain’t got the same soul! I like that old time rock and roll!”

He slides down the banister like he had always wanted to do as a kid and hops off at the end, glancing back to watch the tails flip. “Don’t take me to another ballroom,” he says, replacing the word disco as he does a sort of happy feet dance into the drawing room. “You’ll never even get me out on the floor!” He grabs a fire poker and uses it as a microphone as he spins around and belts out, “In ten minutes I’ll be late for the door! I like that old time rock and roll!” 

“Sir?” the butler interrupts, making Dean choke back on the next words, the fire poker still poised as a microphone in front of him. “Miss Novak and her cousin, Mrs. Lucille Novak.”

Cas and a woman Dean has never seen before stand in the doorway. Cas looks unphased, amusement maybe glittering in those eyes. However, Mrs. Novak looks worried. About him and maybe about her cousin’s choice of company. 

Dean clears his throat and straightens his lapels, handing the poker to his butler quickly. “Uh, hi.” 

“Good afternoon, Mr. Winchester,” Castiel says. 

“How do you do, Mr. Winchester?” her cousin greets, still clearly put off by the scene she had walked into. When he looks at her, he sees his chances of returning to his own time going down the drain. 

“Good, thanks.” They stand awkwardly for a moment before the butler makes a small noise and Dean looks over. The butler looks outside pointedly to remind Dean about tea. “Right. We’re having tea outside on the  _ verandah _ .” 

“Your accent is most peculiar, Mr. Winchester. Where did you say you were from?” Mrs. Novak asks as they walk through the manor to get to their tea service. 

“I didn’t,” he says. He glances at Cas, wondering just how much he can say. She looks just as interested in the answer as her cousin. “I moved around a lot.” It’s the closest to the truth. He could say he’s from America but he doesn’t know how well that would go over. “Uh, after tea we could take a tour of the house maybe. If you want,” he says to Cas. He still needs a tour of the house. He’s only seen his bedroom, the drawing room, and the dining room so far. Well, and the bathroom where he’d had the strangest bath of his life. 

“That would be lovely. Thank you.” She smiles demurely as if he’d asked her in flawless and proper English etiquette instead of whatever twenty-first-century American nonsense had just been spoken. 

“What’s your favorite room? You must have one in such a place as this size,” Mrs. Novak asks as they take their seats outside. Castiel sits on the outdoor couch beside her chaperone and Dean sits across from them in a single chair. Between them, a maid is serving their tea silently. 

“I don’t know yet. I haven’t seen them all.” Castiel shoots him a warning glance. 

“Whatever do you mean you haven’t seen them yet? You must be joking.” Mrs. Novak picks up her tea, laughing a little as if the non-joke he’d told had just been confirmed as one. Castiel shakes her head a little to tell him not to correct her. 

“The dining room is just lovely,” Dean says, lightly mocking the way everyone else has been speaking. 

Castiel takes a sip of her tea. It makes Dean wonder. Does she eat and drink like a regular person here in this time period? He’s used to Cas ordering a burger and sliding it to Dean inconspicuously just to keep up appearances. He’d once told Dean that eating food tasted terrible to him because all he could taste was the molecules instead of the delicious flavors that humans were treated to. He would drink the occasional beer with Dean or share a soda on a long drive but that was more to show affection than to consume the beverages. 

Dean takes a sip of his own tea and tries not to make a face. He’s more of a coffee drinker and usually only in the mornings. By this time, he’s usually having a beer with a late lunch or a soda if he’s on the road. He swallows the bitter leaf water and puts his teacup back on the table. There are sandwiches and biscuits so he tries one of them. Delicious. 

The actual tea drinking seems to take forever as Dean is eager to take that tour of his home and try to get Cas to send him back. Pleasantries are passed as Castiel stares, her blue eyes captivating as always and seemingly reading him like a book. 

“Let’s take that tour,” Dean says, standing. Castiel joins him, standing beside him as they walk back inside, the chaperone trailing a little ways behind. “When can I go home?”

“All I can do is try, Mr. Winchester. I hope it works.” She sighs and looks up at him before turning to look at the wall of paintings. “Show us some of the manor and I shall do my best.” 

“Well this is a wall of paintings,” Dean says, waving his hand at the wall. Castiel gives him a sideways glance. 

“These are lovely,” Mrs. Novak comments. 

“Yeah.” He gives her a second to admire the work before moving on to the other rooms. He finds a study with books tidily packed onto a bookshelf and a desk that has a quill and ink. Another room seems to be a gym of some kind with fencing gear and strange pads on the floor. There’s a second entrance to the dining room that he had no clue about before and he’d certainly been in the dining room before. 

As they reach the bottom of the stairs to adventure there, Castiel reaches out and pretends to grab his arm to steady herself. He knows that this is the touch to send him back, but he doesn’t feel anything. Her eyes shine bright with angelic grace and power before it flickers out. Her eyes become distant and her face pales. She looks like she’s about to faint. He almost calls out her name as she falls into his arms. Mrs. Novak runs forward, suddenly distressed.

“Grace!” Mrs. Novak says, fanning her. Castiel blinks a few times and apologizes as she stands. Dean reluctantly lets go, worried but unable to do much to help. “Are you unwell?”

“I need to sit down,” she says, gripping Dean’s hand on one side and her cousin’s on the other to make sure she doesn’t nearly faint again. 

“There’s a couch in there,” Dean says, nodding toward the drawing room. They help Castiel to a couch before Dean calls out for his butler. “Miss Novak is feeling faint.”

“I feel fine,” she insists as her cousin continues to fan her. 

“Should I call for your carriage, Mrs. Novak?” the butler asks. 

“I feel fine,” Castiel tries again. Dean looks back at her. She’s still pale. Something went wrong with the spell. Her grace should be fine. Something clearly stopped her from being able to send him back. 

“Yes. Thank you,” Mrs. Novak says. 

“I’m sorry to cut this short, but you need to take it easy,” Dean says. There’s no hiding the disappointment in his voice. He’d been so close to going home. “If you feel better tomorrow..?”

“I shall return, Mr. Winchester,” Castiel promises. “I never did get to see your library.” 

“Then I’ll make sure to show you next time.” He bows to her and makes his exit as their carriage is pulled around. 

He plays with his pocket watch as he sits in his room, opening it and closing it repeatedly as he used to do with his silver lighter when he had idle moments to think. This is his second night in a time period that doesn’t belong to him. Another night away from home. 

Dean goes downstairs. It’s the first time he’s been out of his room as underdressed as he is. He’s down to the bottom layer shirt that he’s untucked from his pants. He goes down to the room with the piano in it he found earlier and sits down. 

He plays a few notes. He’s never played an instrument. There were music classes taught at his middle and high schools but he was never at one school long enough to actually learn any music. He used to sit in the corner and resist the lesson or talk back until he was sent off to the principal’s office and in a week or a month it wouldn’t matter because he’d be halfway across the country pissing off a different teacher. He’d learned not to get attached quickly. A lesson his brother never seemed to get. He wanted to be on soccer teams and join boy scouts. He wanted friends. All Dean had wanted was to watch his brother have a happy life.

The tune Dean is playing is slow and sad as he thinks about his past that still lies somewhere in the future. He thinks about his boyfriend who he won’t be sleeping next to tonight. He thinks about Cas fainting in his arms. He sighs. 

“I don’t know how to play the damn piano!” Dean key smashes, the piano booming. He sighs and presses one key at a time from lowest to highest, both of his hands splayed over the keys.

“What would you like for dinner, sir?” one of his servants asks after he’d been playing his piano for some time alone. The sudden voice makes him jump and he looks over his shoulder. 

“Cheeseburger is probably out of the question,” he guesses. She shakes her head a little, her brows furrowed. “Forget it. I’m not hungry anyway.” He turns back to the piano and plays a shaky scale. 


	3. Chapter 3

_After Dean had been hit by two spells at once, he’d vanished. Hopefully just outside where Cas had tried to send him. Sam quickly drew the banishing sigil and slammed his bleeding hand into it to buy them some time._

_“Where’s Dean?” Sam asks, panting._

_“He should be outside. Let’s go.” Something feels off, but Cas tries to ignore it. He leads the younger Winchester through the warehouse where their battle against many angels was taking place. More angels than Cas had even known to exist currently had shown up, catching Team Free Will wildly underprepared._

_They get outside to the exact spot Cas had sent Dean, but there is nothing. The wind blows eerily as Sam spins, searching. Cas’ heart plummets._

_“Where’s Dean?” Sam asks again. “Dean!”_

_“Where are you?” Cas says under his breath. “What have I done?”_

Dean lounges on one of the couches in the drawing room with a book open on his knees. This room has easily become his favorite. There are couches and a nice fireplace and he knows exactly where it is. He hasn’t gotten lost coming and going from this room like he has some of the others.

This time when Castiel arrives at his door, she is without her chaperone. No one bats an eye as they announce her arrival to Dean. “Miss Novak.” 

“How’d you escape a chaperone?” Dean asks, sitting up and closing the book. 

“I allowed them to believe I was properly chaperoned and that many people would be here,”

she says, taking a seat on the opposite couch. 

“You used your mojo to do some Jedi mind tricks didn’t you?” 

“I… I don’t understand that reference, Mr. Winchester.” She smooths her skirts that are a light green today. She’s wearing the tan shoulder jacket thing again today and Dean wonders why Cas seems to like that look so much that it carried over centuries later. 

“Are you feeling better?” 

“I don’t know what happened,” she confesses, looking up at him. “The spell that sent you here is blocked to me. I can’t seem to touch it.” He wonders if Cas is the only angel that’s barred from helping him or if it’s anyone but the son of a bitch that did this to him. He hadn’t seen who cast it, so if that’s the case, he’s shit out of luck. 

“Are you better now though?” Dean asks again. Despite the different vessel and time period, Dean had been worried. When she’d fallen into his arms, panic had gripped him. He’d stayed up that night, playing softly on his piano as he blamed himself for possibly hurting her just in a selfish attempt to go home. He hadn’t thought it would have that effect on her. It didn’t matter what form Castiel was in, Dean cared deeply for them. 

“I am.” Their eyes connect and they’re both quiet for a moment. He can see straight through the blue of her eyes to the blue of his. It’s like seeing his entire future mapped out in a color that has been his favorite since 2008. A color that he made a home of, seeking it when he’s uncomfortable, injured, sad, or even helplessly in love. He wonders what she sees in his eyes that captivates her so. It doesn’t seem to matter that she’s only known him for three days. Her eyes seek his, intentionally or not. “The library?” she asks, snapping the tension. 

“Right.” 

They fall into a routine of sorts. They take chaperoned walks in town when they have to go shopping for ingredients for their failed spells and she uses her power to ditch the chaperone so they can go back to his manor and dive into lore books. Little is known about time travel, and less still about angels. His library here is less equipped than the Bunker he has in the future. 

After another failed attempt at sending him home, Dean blinks as he regains consciousness. Usually, the attempts are just a small fizzle or a disappointing nothing. Today, they’d gotten a little closer to doing something because when Dean drank the disgusting potion they’d made, he’d immediately fallen to the floor. Castiel is kneeling at his side, dabbing sweat from his brow with a cloth. 

“Mr. Winchester?”

“I’m fine,” he mumbles as he sits up. “I’m fucking fine.” He sighs heavily and touches the back of his head where he’s expecting a lump the size of Jupiter. It’s tender and he winces, but it’s not terrible. “Son of a bitch.” 

“I think we should stop for today,” she says as she packs away the books, returning them to their shelves. “Shall I leave you to recover?” 

“No.” He gets up from the floor and dusts himself off. “I’ll be okay. Do you know how to play cards?”

“I know how to play whist,” she offers as she follows him up the stairs back to the main house. 

“The fuck is whist? I mean poker or something.” He opens the door and bites back laughter at the look of visible confusion on her face. 

“The poker for the fire... The one you were dancing with a weeks past? I don’t often play with fire-tending utensils, sir.” 

“No. No. Uh.” He shakes his head, thinking as they walk toward the room that had the card table and piano. “Blackjack? Texas Hold ‘Em? 21?”

“Do you mean 31?” she asks. Close enough. He shrugs and nods. “I can play that. And it only requires two.” 

“My brain is going to fall out of my skull if I read another word,” Dean says, slamming his book shut. Castiel closes her book softly and looks up at him without saying anything. “Do you eat?” 

“No.” She takes their books from the table and puts them back in their places on the shelf. “Why do you ask, Mr. Winchester?”

“Because I’m starving but it would probably be rude to have them serve you a dinner you can’t eat.” They head back into the main house like they always do after study sessions and start walking through the rooms without really caring where they end up. 

“Are you asking me to dinner, Mr. Winchester?” she asks with a small smile. He feels heat rise up his neck and into his cheeks.

“No. I guess? Maybe. You don’t eat anyway.” He remembers his Cas being affected by Famine, his vessel craving the burgers that Cas was eating like no tomorrow. “Is your vessel alive?” It’ll never be comfortable to think about Jimmy Novak being alive during that first couple of years. Novak. He forces himself not to do a double-take as he realizes that Grace is probably related to Jimmy. Cas had said something about it running in their blood. 

“Yes. She’s very devout.”

“She prayed for this?” he guesses. 

“Well, yes.” She pauses, frowning a little while she thinks. “She had been ailing while I was in search of a vessel. She had smallpox and I had a mission. She’s since healed, but I still have a mission from Heaven to complete.” 

“She’s probably starving if you haven’t eaten.” 

“Then I should take dinner with you.” 

Dean found a ledger in the study that he’d started to use to keep track of the amount of time that has been passing (twenty days) along with how many attempts he’s made at returning home (seven). It also has doodles of trees and clouds with lightning, things he doodles in the margins when he doesn’t want to pore over lore books anymore. 

“I should be going,” Castiel announces when Dean yawns. “It is getting rather late.” 

“Will you be back tomorrow?” he asks hopefully. 

“I will be otherwise occupied.” He doesn’t know why his heart sinks at this. He does, he just doesn’t want to admit it. He’s losing hope in going home, but he feels safe with Cas here. He feels like maybe he doesn’t need to make it back if Castiel is by his side. The angel he’s in love with in the twenty-first century is here, sitting at the same table with him in the nineteenth. The only difference had been that she didn’t know him, but as they continue to spend most of their days together, she’s starting to. 

“Doing what?” He sounds jealous but he can’t help it.

“My family has been invited to a ball that I must attend. I’m sorry.” She still hasn’t moved from her seat. Her eyes lock with his and her cheeks tinge pink. “You could meet me there. I would reserve dances for you.” 

“I don’t know how to do your dances,” he reminds her. 

“I could teach you…” she offers tentatively. “Would you attend then?” He grins and they go upstairs quickly. 

“Where’s the ballroom, Jeeves?!” Dean calls out. 

“This way, sir. And my name still isn’t Jeeves,” his poor butler answers. “Mr. Butler will do just fine.”

“Wait. I thought you were joking when you said your name was Mr. Butler. You were serious? That’s a name?” Dean asks looking between Castiel and his butler, Mr. Butler. 

“Yes, sir,” Mr. Butler answers. If Dean didn’t know better, he’d say his butler was becoming increasingly amused by his antics. “The ballroom.” 

“Do we have someone on staff who can play the piano for us? Miss Novak is going to teach me how to dance,” Dean announces proudly. 

“Excellent, sir. I can play the piano if that is what you wish.” 

“You’re full of surprises today, Jeeves. I mean Mr. Butler,” he corrects himself quickly. “Please play for us.” 

Mr. Butler bows his head and takes a seat on the piano bench as Castiel leads Dean to the center of the room. She instructs him where to stand and nods to Mr. Butler to begin. The notes help Dean keep time as he moves his feet according to her instructions. 

After learning one dance to Castiel’s satisfaction, she dips into a curtsy and smiles. “It’ll do, Mr. Winchester.” Mr. Butler stops playing and quietly stands by the piano. 

“I’ll walk you out,” Dean offers. This time she takes his arm. It’s a relatively simple touch, but it sends electricity racing through him. His heart hammers and he feels like Thumper when he gets twitterpated in Bambi. “Goodnight, Castiel,” Dean says softly when they make it to her carriage. 

“Goodnight, Mr. Winchester,” she answers just as gently. She steps up, using his hand as a railing. “Tomorrow we shall dance.” 

Castiel’s hand is in his as they waltz. His other hand is on her lower back, their bodies close and their feet stepping in unison as they move as one. Before this, he’d had the first dance with her. He’d stayed on the sidelines trying not to be jealous as she danced with others. He’d failed and kept his eyes locked with hers the entire time, much more passing between them than that first night. There’s a stronger pull now. One that erases everyone else around them and leaves him alone in a room with her. Halfway through the night, she’d returned to him, sweeping him back onto the dance floor and lighting his nerves on fire as the whispers began. 

“The last two are for you,” she had promised him at the end of their second dance. “Try not to look yellow.” 

“I don’t know what that means,” he said as she walked away. 

Now, they’re chest to chest in the final dance. Her eyes are glittering as she gazes up at him, her cheeks pink from the dance but she might also be blushing. She’s wearing a blue ballgown with white flowery lace and gloves. 

“Have I told you how beautiful you are tonight?” Dean asks with a small smile. 

“No, I don’t believe you have.” She smiles and dips her chin, looking up at him through her thick lashes. 

“You take my breath away, Castiel.” Her hand tightens in his and he squeezes back. “And not just tonight,” he adds, feeling himself blush and not caring. 

“Mr. Winchester…”

“Dean,” he interrupts gently. “Call me Dean.” 

“Dean,” she breathes and he’s sure his heart stops. 

Dean presses the keys on his piano, still far from playing anything more complicated than Mary Had a Little Lamb. He plays it slow enough that it makes the cheerful tune creepy while he thinks about the ball. He picks up the pace on the repetitive song and remembers his name on her perfect lips. 

“Mr. Winchester,” his butler says when Dean stops playing, his hands resting on the white keys. Dean turns around and sees that he’s brought Castiel with him. “Miss Novak is here.” 

“Thanks, Jeeves,” Dean says. His butler smiles and shakes his head a little at the name and leaves the room. “Hey, Cas?” 

“Yes, Dean?” She says it like they’ve been addressing each other this way for centuries. Dean smiles. 

“Will you teach me how to play the piano?” 

She tilts her head a little and it makes his stomach flip. “Shouldn’t we be studying? We’re no closer to finding a way to return you to your time as we were weeks ago.” 

“Not today, Cas.” He’s given up hope of returning home. He’s made peace with it. Sam will be fine. Cas will be okay. He has to be. Every time he thinks of his boyfriend, his stomach knots with guilt and a vague feeling of lost love. Future Cas and Sam will take care of each other in their grief while current Cas makes Dean feel safe and warm. He loves Castiel no matter the vessel or time. His heart belongs to an angel and he’s decided he’s happy as long as they’re near. 

Castiel walks over to him and positions herself behind him, lightly taking his hands and placing them back on the piano. Her fingers rest over his and she begins to play through his fingertips. The melody is sweet, bordering on romantic as she leans into him. He watches their fingers dance and lets her have control. 

When the song ends, she releases him and it feels like coming out of a dream. She takes a seat next to him on the bench and positions his hands on the keys without looking at him. He plays a slow scale, watching her instead of the keys he’s pressing, transfixed and entirely under her spell. 

It’s early in the morning when Dean sits down at his piano and takes a deep breath. He’s been practicing for weeks and finally has something that resembles a song that’s close to him. He feels out the keys, his eyes closed as he listens to the sound. 

“ _So close, no matter how far…_ ” he sings, his voice barely over the gentle piano. “ _Couldn’t be much more from the heart. Forever trust in who we are… And nothing else matters._ ” 

“Can I get coffee?” he asks suddenly, turning around and taking his keys off. He can feel the staff listening and he knows his singing isn’t a gem. 

“Yes, sir,” a maid answers and hurries off. He’d learned pretty early on that coffee was far from an instant drink in these times. It takes about an hour, so hopefully he has that long to practice before he has an audience again. 

He turns back to the piano and starts again. He hums the lyrics instead of singing them, embarrassed of his voice and the very real feelings behind each word. 

Cas arrives that afternoon for tea and is led directly to the room where he sits at his piano. He doesn’t wait for her to sit down before he starts playing tenderly. 

“ _So close, no matter how far… Couldn’t be much more from the heart… Forever trusting who we are… And nothing else matters._ ” She stands beside the piano so he can look up into her eyes as he sings to her. “ _Never opened myself this way. Life is ours, we live it our way… All these words I don’t just say… And nothing else matters…_ ” He could drown in the oceans of her eyes, content among the galaxies. “ _Trust I seek and I find in you… Every day for us something new… Open mind for a different view… And nothing else matters._ ” 

Close together in the 1800s, yet far, wrenched apart by two centuries. He knew with a single glance that the beautiful woman who stands here now is the same angel he’d fallen for before. He’s trusted her completely and she him. They had fought side by side. They’d once held a rich and powerful profound bond. Now, he craves her touch. He hopes every footstep is hers. He finds her eyes in every ballroom. He feels that electric jolt when she says his name with that voice. A love that spans all of time. He couldn’t be more ready to jump in with both feet. 

When he finishes the song, he stands and takes her hands carefully in his own. She looks up at him and words seem to escape them both as he lifts a hand to her face and gently caresses her cheek. Their faces are so close he can feel her breath on his lips. He closes the gap between them and presses his lips to hers. She kisses back immediately, wrapping her arms around him, her hands in his hair as she parts her lips to deepen the kiss. He pulls her against him with his free arm and loses himself in her kiss.

“Dean,” she whimpers into his mouth. It breaks the kiss and they rest their foreheads together, breathing hard and eyes still closed. 

“I love you, Cas,” he says, his thumb running along her jaw. “I always have and I always will.” 

“I’m not allowed to love,” she says before she kisses him again tenderly. “But I do love you. More than you know.” 


	4. Chapter 4

For the first time since she met Dean Winchester, the angels have called for a meeting. They are meeting for lunch at Naomi’s household where she’s living with Ishim to keep up appearances. Obviously, no lunch will be served. 

Castiel had been a good angel. She’d followed every order from Heaven. She’d done everything she was told to do and acted as a soldier in Heaven’s army without objection or defiance. She had gone to every meeting before this one and told everything she knew even if she’d gleaned no new significant information. Today, she is prepared to defy. She knows that when she walks into that house, she will be lying through her teeth as she tells them there is nothing to report. She will defy Heaven for the man she loves. 

The chauffeur opens the door to her carriage and holds a hand out to help her down. She takes it and listens to the gravel crunch under her shoe. This house is just that: a house. It’s a little cottage and nothing in comparison to the manor she’s been at almost every single day since Dean arrived, but the sight of it alone has her stomach in knots. 

“Good to see you, Castiel,” Naomi greets her as she steps inside. “We are gathering in the den. Have you heard from Balthazar? He is the last we expect.”

“No, but he is always late,” Castiel reminds her. She walks through to the den to find everyone else seated on the couches. Ishim and Benjamin are on one couch while Anna is on the opposite. The seat next to her is open so Castiel takes it. 

“Sister,” Anna greets her. 

“Sister,” Castiel responds distantly. The only thing she wants to do is run far from everyone in this small, suffocating house and back to the arms of Dean Winchester. Her mouth burns with the memory of his lips.

“Sorry, I’m late,” Balthazar says loudly to punctuate his arrival. He and Naomi walk into the room. Balthazar takes a seat right next to Castiel while Naomi takes her spot next to her fake husband. 

“Let’s start by hearing from you, Balthazar. What news have you?” Naomi asks pointedly, expecting nothing from him. It’s been a trend that he hasn’t been exactly helpful on this mission. Castiel isn’t even sure why he was placed with them with his mischievous nature. 

“Nothing to report unless you count the Virgin Marys I’ve been making cry to make the church just go mad,” he says grinning. 

“You what?” Castiel asks, turning to look at her old friend. 

“Balthazar,” Naomi sighs, clearly exhausted by his shenanigans. “Leave the girls alone.” 

“Girls?” 

“Has anybody else been hearing about a Mr. Winchester?” Anna pipes up, cutting off the bickering that was surely about to start. Castiel looks down at her gloved hands to hide the heat she feels invading her cheeks. She needs a fan, but angels don’t feel temperature and they don’t blush or feel the vapors. 

“I have been wondering the same,” Benjamin says. “I have heard spreading rumors about him. He’s quite the talk of the town. Wealthy. They say he’s strange.  _ And _ they say he’s courting.”

“Why is he the subject of so much talk?” Ishim asks.

“If you met him, you’d understand,” Castiel says quietly. If they met him, would they see the dashing time traveler she sees? The handsome face, jaw chiseled from marble, and eyes as green as the open fields in May? Would they see that smile that shines brighter than the sun ever could? Probably not.”He’s an eccentric character.” 

“What does any of this have to do with our mission? Have we given up and lowered ourselves to gossiping about high society bachelors who may or may not be courting?” Naomi interrupts. Everyone goes quiet but Castiel can feel Balthazar’s curious eyes on her. “Have you all forgotten the mission? Do you need reminding that we are here to stop the creation of a nephilim child? This child that is prophesized to be born in the year next will be the most powerful being to date. It will have a power that could be greater than the archangels. It has to be stopped. It is an abomination. A mule. We have orders to stop this child from being conceived.” 

“Yes, Naomi,” Anna, Castiel, Benjamin, and Ishim answer quietly. Balthazar sighs. 

“May I speak with you?” Ishim asks. Naomi leaves the room with him. This is where he fights with her about how they’re running out of time and should be focusing on America and she reminds him that she’s in charge of this mission and it’s a direct order from Heaven. It always takes awhile. 

Castiel gets up and moves to the chess table at the far end of the room. She sets the pieces carefully as Balthazar takes the seat opposite her. He sets up his own pieces while humming. 

“What is it, Balthazar?” Castiel asks, looking up at him pointedly. 

“What do you really know about this Mr. Winchester, Cassie darling?” he asks quietly. Anna and Benjamin are talking amongst themselves. 

“I don’t know what you’re insinuating,” Castiel says, face burning again. They start playing chess as he picks her apart, trying to analyze what she won’t say. What she can never say. 

“I am insinuating that there was a veiled response in your words. Something unsaid, perhaps?” He’s playing to win, already swiping her pieces off the board while her mind is elsewhere. “You have met him, haven’t you?” 

“Once or twice,” she says thinly. She’s only met with Dean on sixty-five different days. 

“You lie,” he says with a teasing grin. “Tell me the truth. I can see through you as if you were made of thin air.” 

“If you can see through my supposed lies, then do tell me what I am hiding, Balthazar,” she retorts, stealing his bishop. 

“I think you’re smitten.” His voice is low, but it’s the loudest thing he’s ever said. She wants to cover his mouth and drag him away from this house to keep anyone from hearing his absolutely accurate accusations. 

“So I fancy him,” she whispers. “It will pass.” 

“Oh, Cassie. Darling, no.” He laughs, shaking his head in disbelief. “Castiel? Smitten? That cannot be news. Let me think. When was the last time Castiel fancied anyone? Oh? No answer? Let me think, let me think. Ah, I’ve got it! Never! You have never fancied anyone, angel or not!” He whispers harshly. 

“Shut your bone box!” she hisses. “It is nothing and I should never have mentioned it.” 

“Are your lips swollen?” he asks.

“Heavens, no!” she lies.

He shrugs, dropping it as he announces, “Checkmate.”

Castiel follows Mr. Butler through Dean’s manor. Everything is familiar enough now that she barely needs to follow his lead. If he had said what room Dean was in, she could have run there, her heart calling out to her love. 

They walk in and Mr. Butler is about to interrupt whatever it is that Dean is doing when Castiel shakes her head and silently tells him not to. They both stand, waiting and watching as Dean practices walking through the room, kicking his coattails that he shouldn’t even be wearing inside. He stops and bows to no one, dipping low and righting himself. 

“How do you do?” he says in a butchering of an English accent. 

“I do quite well, thank you, Mr. Winchester,” Castiel answers. Dean jumps and spins around quickly. 

“Miss Novak has arrived,” Mr. Butler finally announces with a small bow to his head. 

“Yeah, thanks,” Dean says, taking off his coat. “Can I have my other coat? The one you told me is for inside?” He hands the coat he had been wearing to Mr. Butler.

“Of course, sir.” 

“You do have other servants. You could ask them to do the small tasks, you know,” Castiel points out as Mr. Butler leaves the room. 

“I think they think I’m weird.” He crosses the room to her and pulls her into his arms, kissing her and melting the world around them. “Good afternoon, Cas,” he murmurs against her lips. 

“Hello, Dean,” she answers softly. He presses deliberate kisses to her cheeks, nose, forehead, and eyelids before returning to her mouth. Her fingers curl his collar into her fists. Her entire being is on fire, her heart leaping from her chest to his. She aches with the only statement she knows to be true anymore: She is in love with Dean Winchester. 

“What’re you thinkin’ about?” he asks softly, his breath on her lips as he starts to pull away. 

“You,” she answers. 

“What?” He grins cheekily, his green eyes mischievous. 

“I am realizing how little I actually know about you.” It has been on her mind for months. Ever since he confirmed her idea that he wasn’t from this time period, she’s had questions that went unasked. The moment she felt herself falling for him, she craved the answers more and more with each passing day. 

“What do you want to know?” They’d relinquished each other’s grasp and have opted for the more formal, yet still quite scandalous form of walking together. They only walk like this in the comfort of his home, her arm looped with his. 

“I do not know anything about your family. Were they hunters as well? Do they miss you?” It’s dangerous territory. She knows she’s not supposed to ask about the future. She’s also not supposed to fall in love, but here they are. 

“I have a brother, Sam. He probably freaked out when I disappeared, but he should be fine. He has y… He has someone looking after him.” Dean drags a hand through his hair and sighs. “Mom’s a stranger. I just got her back and she didn’t really want the big reunion. She said she needed space. Dad’s dead and when he was alive, he was a mean drunk who was more of a drill sergeant than a father. Took me awhile to heal from that one. So it’s just Sam and me. Sort of.” 

“Do we know each other in the future?” she ventures. He has to, right? He knew her name when he walked up to her. It’s not logical, but she braces herself for the answer to be no, he doesn’t know her at all. 

“Cas…” There’s a warning in his voice. She looks up at him but she doesn’t back down. 

“Your coat, sir,” Mr. Butler says from behind them. They jump away from each other as if they’d been caught doing much worse. Dean’s cheeks are as red as roses as he thanks his butler and shrugs his housecoat on. 

“Thank you. Pie for dinner?” Dean asks, clearing his throat. 

“Excellent choice, Mr. Winchester,” Mr. Butler says.

“Thanks,” he says again. Mr. Butler bows his head and leaves them alone to stroll through the manor. Dean holds out his arm again and Castiel takes it, fitting herself against his side as they resume their walk. 

“You do know me,” she insists, not allowing the subject to drop. He doesn’t answer, which is an answer all in itself. “Am I beautiful in the future?” 

“You are beautiful always,” he says, his voice soft as he looks down at her. Her heart skips. “Please stop asking about yourself before I lose my mind.” 

“Tell me about your life then.” 

“My life, huh?” he asks, giving her a sideways glance like he’s unsure if it’s a trap. It is one, but she’s banking on his uncertainty. “Well. I hunted a lot. I’m not really sure what I had qualifies as a life beyond the relationships I had. I didn’t have a nice home with a garden and a white picket fence. I didn’t have an income. There was a time period where I didn’t have food to eat and my home was a motel room.” She doesn’t know what some of it means, but his smile is sad. 

“You had your brother,” she reminds him. He nods. “And me.” at this, he laughs and rolls his eyes.

“You aren’t sneaky. I’m not going to tell you about yourself in the future!” It’s obvious she’s right and that means everything. “Tell me about your life. Why are you even on Earth right now?” 

“I am on a mission from Heaven.” It feels like she’s repeating words that no longer hold meaning to her. Something that was drilled into her to say. Programmed long ago. “Do you miss hunting?”

“I do.” He nods, thinking. “I was actually looking for a hunt. Something simple.” He shrugs. “I found out that there were accounts of Virgin Marys crying. Like real tears. Should I look into it?”

“No.” She sighs, silently cursing Balthazar and his strange antics. “I have a question.”

“You have a lot of those right now,” he points out. “Spit it out.”

“In the future… Do you hunt angels?” She glances up at him, worried about the answer. She imagines he’s a great hunter. The kind that monsters hate because he is good at his job. 

“Only when they’re bad.” He smiles but anxiety rips through her. “Joke. It was a joke! I don’t hunt angels. No.” She rests a hand over her chest and lets out a relieved breath. “You are safe with me. You know that, right?”  
  
“Yes.” She’s never felt safer than when she’s near Dean and there is no explanation other than her malfunctioning heart. “Tell me what year you are from.”

“I was born in 1979.” It sounds distant, but she’s lived far longer than two centuries. It should feel like nothing. “I’m not telling you the year I came from.” 

“Are you worried you could be too old for me, Dean?” 

He laughs and it makes the whole room bright. She doesn’t know how she survived so long without it before. The sound of it is sweeter than any other. The look of joy on his handsome face is enough to make her defy her orders, defy Heaven, and let herself long for something more. 

“No. Pretty sure you have a few millennia on me.” 

“Have you ever been in love?” Castiel asks, steering the conversation back to his past life. He stops walking and cups her face in his hands, their faces close. She catches her breath and looks into his eyes. Their noses touch, but he won’t give her his lips. 

“Once,” he answers, his eyes unwavering. She clutches his jacket and swallows hard, her lips parting preemptively. She loves when he holds her like this, the second before the kiss, an entire love story in his eyes. “Just once.” She lifts her mouth to his and feels him push her against the wall as their lips crash together. 

“Dean,” she breathes as his lips trail down her jaw to her throat. She lets her head roll back as she rakes her fingers through his hair and lets him devour her. They cannot and will not keep their hands or mouths to themselves. 

He hoists her up so she’s pressed firmly between the wall and his body. He captures her mouth with his again as she tries to pull him closer. His hand is on her thigh. His touch might as well have been made of flames, her dress incinerated, her skin scorched, and her true form burning bright. 

“Fuck,” he groans into her, nuzzling her neck for a moment as they both rake in ragged breaths. 

“We shouldn’t,” she agrees though she aches for him. She kisses him again and he laughs. 

“You say that, and then you stick your tongue down my throat. I love the mixed signals, Cas, but I don’t know if I can put up a fight against you.” How? How does he make everything so much…  _ more? _ How did she live without his touch, his laugh, his eyes, his everything for so long? He lets her down and steps away. His eyes are brighter somehow and he laughs again. “Well, this is a wall of paintings,” he says, gesturing to the wall. 

She turns around and finds that the wall they’d crashed into was the first room on her first tour of this manor. A step over two months ago when she had been about to try to send him far away from her and failed. She laughs too and he looks like he’s never heard such a sound. She stops abruptly. 

“I’m sorry.” Castiel covers her mouth as Dean shakes his head. 

“No. You just don’t really laugh. I love that sound.” She laughs again, softer, her eyes locked with his. She’s in trouble.

They are served meat pie for dinner in the dining room. She teaches him what utensils to use according to the course and content. 

“Do they not use forks in the future?” Cas asks before taking a dainty sip of the first course of soup. She can taste every molecule, every atom, but none of the flavor. She wishes she could enjoy it as much as Dean seems to. After some bites, he closes his eyes with bliss and smiles with closed lips. 

“I mean, yeah. We have forks. Just not like fancy forks. I don’t really go to places that give me more than one course. I usually just eat like burgers and fries which is finger food.” He shrugs like eating food with one’s fingers is normal. “Or burritos. Burritos are especially good if I’m driving.”

“You take meals in your carriage?” 

“No. Cars aren’t like this.” He picks up a random fork and holds it up. 

“For dessert,” she says in answer to the question he hadn’t yet asked. He nods and puts it back down. 

“I’m just trying to remember for tomorrow.” He takes a sip of his wine. “I’m just nervous, I guess.” 

“Don’t be. Tomorrow will be just like tonight,” she promises him, slightly confused. She wonders why tomorrow should be different. A small part of her whispers that he might be preparing to propose to her and she feels her chest tighten as if her corset were suddenly pulled tighter. 

“Right.” Dean doesn’t sound convinced. 

“Are you well?” Her voice sounds too high now that she has it in her head that he’s thinking about proposing. He looks up from his soup and nods.

“I’m just overthinking this thing. I’m fine.”

Castiel comes out of her room and starts looking for her bonnet. She was sure she left it in the front room, but everything had been moved around. The entire place was cleaned and unnaturally tidy all of the sudden. Usually, there was at least a small mess. Some indication that a family lived here. 

“Mother?” she calls out.

“Grace! What on Earth are you wearing?” she looks scandalized by the plain day outfit Castiel had chosen. “No, no. This won’t do. Go change at once. What about that pretty blue one? That brings out your wonderful eyes.”

“I was just going to go for a walk through town. Why do I need to change?” 

“You will not be leaving this house!” Mrs. Novak insists, ushering Castiel back to her bedroom. “You must change! Mr. Winchester will be here at four and we must be ready!” 

“Pardon?” Dean Winchester was going to come to this house and meet the Novak family formally? He was going to sit down to eat dinner with this family? That must be why he had been nervous the previous night. Why he wanted to know which utensil to use for which course. Why he was practicing introducing himself when she’d first arrived. Oh dear. “Mr. Winchester? Here?” 

“Don’t pretend to be daft. You have been spending every moment you can with the man and he’s danced with you on multiple occasions. He even refuses to dance with anyone else! The whole town is talking of his obvious affections for you!” 

“Affections for me?” she repeats numbly as she takes the dress from her mother. 

“Yes, you silly girl!” Mrs. Novak says affectionately. “What if he should like to propose?” Her mother helps her change, tightening the corset to push her breasts higher. 

“Mother!” she scolds her as she’s tied in. 

“Brush out your hair while I warm the curler.” Her mother leaves the room and it’s still too loud. Her heart hammers in her chest, pounding out his name in her burning ears as she slowly brushes out her dark hair. Dean Winchester is coming for dinner. 


	5. Chapter 5

Dean sits in his carriage, staring at the clockface of his pocket watch. He had desperately wanted to bring Mr. Butler with him to tell him what to do and what to say and give him those subtle reminders of how to act. His carriage feels empty. His nerves are eating him alive. Why did he agree to this? Because Cas wanted it, duh. 

The door to his carriage is opened and he steps down. He quickly reaches back into his car to grab his top hat and put it back on. “And then take it off at the door?” he asks his chauffeur.

“Yes, sir,” the chauffeur answers stiffly. He’s still not entirely used to Dean’s lack of knowledge about the era he lives in. 

“Thanks,” Dean says as he puffs up his chest with a breath he intends to hold for the entire night. He lets it out with a massive sigh. “Here I go.” He walks around the carriage and up to the front door where he takes a deep breath and knocks. He takes off the hat that he’d literally just put on a second ago and tucks it under his arm as he’d practiced with Mr. Butler. 

A footman opens the door and steps to the side like Dean’s seen in the movies. He hands him his coat and hat. “Thanks,” he says softly. The footman looks confused like many of Dean’s servants before shaking it off and leading Dean to a sitting room where there are many more people than Dean had anticipated. 

He recognizes three. Mrs. Novak, the mother, who he’d met his first night here. Mrs. Novak, the cousin turned chaperone who lasted a day before Cas decided to use her power to create an imaginary chaperone as a replacement. And Cas, who looks stunning as always. Small blue flowers are woven into her braids and delicate curls fall around her face and down the nape of her neck. Everyone else is a stranger, all eagerly looking at him as if he’s the coolest thing since sliced bread which hasn’t even been invented yet. The coolest thing before sliced bread. 

Dean bows to the room of presumed Novaks as a man, presumably Mr. Novak, the father, approaches him. 

“How do you do, Mr. Winchester?” he says. Dean has never been more nervous in his entire life and he lived through Ghost Sickness when he was thirty. “I have heard much about you, of course. It’s a pleasure to finally meet you after all this time. It was much overdue. I am William Novak, Grace’s father. You have already met my wife, Grace’s mother,” he says as Mrs. Novak joins him. 

“Of course. How do you do?” Dean greets her. 

They make their way through the sea of strangers. It’s a myriad of Novaks and  _ how do you do _ s. He knows that he won’t be able to keep all of them straight, but he follows protocol as best he can until he reaches the last couch where Castiel is seated with her younger sister. 

“This is my youngest daughter, Miss Isabel,” Mr. Novak says, indicating the teenager with cheeks the color of a tomato. She opens her mouth but no noise comes out as her eyes become as wide as saucers. 

“Close your mouth, child,” Mrs. Novak hisses. 

“How do you do?” Dean says for what must be the thousandth time. She squeaks and he smiles which only makes matters worse. 

“And you already know Grace,” her father says. Dean turns to her and feels the security of her presence wrap around him. She smiles and everything is right with the world. He misses the call for refreshments, the room dropping out from under him as Cas gifts him with that smile of hers. 

It’s not long before everyone is led to the dining room where everyone has a place. Mr. Novak takes his seat at the head of the table, his wife at his side. Next to her is Cas. Dean is on the other side of the table, sitting directly across from Mrs. Novak, but his eyes stray sideways to his sweetheart. 

Dinner is served and Dean has to think about it, but he’s pretty sure he grabbed the right fork. It’s delicious and vaguely strange like all of the food he’s eaten in this time period. He’s still not used to the food not being over-processed and packaged. 

“So, Mr. Winchester, do you hear from your relatives at all? We hadn’t expected to see any

more Winchesters in the area after your family moved to the Americas,” Mrs. Novak asks him. 

“Y...yes? Yes. They made it there safely and are settling in.” It occurs to him that the Men of Letters Bunker could already exist. “They’re practically strangers to me though.” The only Winchester he’d met was his grandfather who won’t be born until the 1900s. 

“How so?”

He wants to look to Cas for help but he knows he can’t. She doesn’t have the answers either. “My only connection to them is my grandfather. I traveled with my father when I was growing up so I didn’t really meet a lot of my family.” It’s basically the truth. 

“You traveled growing up? Does your father have many houses, then?” 

He can’t tell if he’s doing well or not. He could be building himself up or digging a grave and he wouldn’t know the difference until it was too late.

“He did,” he lies. “He’s dead now though and I chose to stay here.” 

“I’m sorry to hear of his passing.” 

“Isabel, hush!” one of the cousins near the end of the table says. Dean and Cas both turn to look from the head of the table to the back where Isabel is protesting. 

“But he’s so  _ handsome _ ,” Isabel says, clearly unaware that she has the entire room’s attention. “And those eyes!”

“That’s enough, Isabel,” Mr. Novak says sternly. Isabel swivels to see her audience and clamps her mouth shut when she sees Dean is looking at her. He looks back at Cas and they share a small embarrassed smile. 

“Have you been to London recently?” Mrs. Novak asks to cover up her youngest daughter’s impropriety. 

“I…” His eyes dart to Cas’ despite the promise he’d made to himself not to look to her for the answers. She nods, but barely. It’s small enough for no one else to notice. “Yes. I just came from London almost three months ago now.” 

“Oh, wonderful!” 

Questions come from all sides. He feels like he’s not there to eat dinner. He’s there to try to prove himself somehow. To them, they’re probably just trying to figure out if he’s rich and well off enough to marry their daughter. To him, he’s proving that he can do this high society living in the nineteenth century for her. That he can live here and be a real person for Cas. 

He only messes up once. When they ask him, “Where do you like to take your seasons?” 

What? What does that even mean? He looks to Cas but she only nods for him to answer like the question that was asked made any sense. “Uh..?” Isabel giggles as he fails to find an answer or a lie. 

“You were in London this year past, weren’t you?” Cas asks pointedly. 

“Yeah. Yes.”

He sends her a silent thank you as her father starts to talk about one of the people he knows who must also be rich. Dean can’t follow, but it’s nice to be off the hot seat long enough to eat his meal and let the relief sink in. They haven’t thrown him out yet and they’re fanning their own feathers like peacocks. Maybe they like him too. 

“Shall we retire to the parlor?” Mr. Novak suggests when dinner has finished. He stands from the table and everyone else follows him into the next room. Isabel tries to run ahead and almost makes it to the piano before her mother stops her. 

“Grace, would you like to play some music for us?” Mrs. Novak asks as Isabel pouts. Cas bows her head in a single nod as she makes her way to the piano. Dean takes a seat near the piano so that if she looks sideways, he’s there. Mrs. Novak takes a seat on another couch, making Isabel sit next to her before she tries to beeline to sit beside Dean. 

Cas settles her hands on the keys as everyone else takes their seats around the room. She peeks at Dean out of the corner of her eye before dragging her eyes away again. She begins to play and he knows the notes instantly. She’s not singing the words, but she’s playing Nothing Else Matters. He sits up a little straighter. He wants to sit on the piano bench beside her and sing the words gently to her as he brushes the curls away from her face. His lips against her temple as he sings. Her hitched breath. She looks over at him as if she can hear his thoughts. Her cheeks are tinged pink and her eyes are bright with shared desire as she plays a concert just for him. 

“That sounded excellent,” her mother says when the song is finished. “I don’t believe I have heard it though. Wherever did you learn it?” 

“Mr. Winchester wrote it,” Cas says lightly, her eyes dipping down to the piano keys to break their eye contact. 

“You write music, Mr. Winchester?” Mr. Novak asks. “You are full of surprises.” 

“It’s only a hobby,” Dean says. 

Cas continues to play as Dean is pulled into a game of whist that he never actually learned how to play. While Isabel practically plays for him, telling him which cards to play and when, Dean looks past the table and the people to his gorgeous angel, her concentration only half on her music. 

“ _ I pray to thee, Castiel _ ,” he thinks silently and she jumps, her eyes darting to him. “ _ I love you more with each passing moment. You own my heart. _ ” Her eyes go soft as she looks at him, hearing his silent prayer and proclamation of love. 

At the end of the night, Mr. Novak stands and everyone else follows. “Thank you for joining us tonight, Mr. Winchester. It was a pleasure. We do hope to see more of you in the future. Grace will walk you out.” 

“Thank you for having me,” Dean answers with a small bow. “The pleasure was all mine.” Cas leads him out of the room and to the foyer where his coat and hat are returned to him. 

“Thanks for inviting me,” Dean says as they leave the house and step onto the path that leads back to where his carriage will be. 

“I didn’t invite you,” she laughs. “Mr. Novak… I mean Father invited you. Is that why you didn’t tell me the moment you were invited? You thought the invitation was from me?” 

“Uh, yeah.” 

“Whatever will we do with you? That isn’t how things are done.” She shakes her head a little and the curls bounce. “I did have an excellent time tonight even if I was caught unaware.” 

“You look pretty damn good for caught unaware,” he comments. Cas looks down, hiding the smile that crosses her lips. “You played the song.”

“You prayed to me.” 

They stop beside his carriage and turn to each other. The moonlight illuminating her face is enough to make his heart race. Then again, the sunlight, moonlight, starshine, and flickering candlelight all seem to accentuate her beauty. Maybe he’ll get used to it, but he hopes he never does. 

“I want to kiss you,” he says softly. 

“The entire Novak family is currently watching us through the windows,” Cas tells him. “I would kiss you if I could.” 

“Then this will have to do.” He dips into a bow and presses a single kiss to her knuckles. “See ya tomorrow, Cas.” 

“Until tomorrow, love.” 

Dean steps into his carriage and flops onto his seat, tossing his hat onto the opposite chair. He wants to sing and dance and… tell Sam. He wants to tell Sam like he’s wanted to tell Sam for a while. But Sam isn’t here. 

Dean looks out the window as the carriage begins to move. She stands on the path that leads up to her house, watching him leave with a dreamy look on her face. 


	6. Chapter 6

Mr. Butler is at the piano, music floating through the air around Dean and Cas as they dance. He loves the way that dancing with her feels. The warmth of her hand in his, their bodies close as they step together, the pounding of his heart.

“There’s a ball I’ve been invited to,” Dean says. “Would you go with me?” 

“I would love to,” she says without hesitation. “Do you remember who is hosting?” 

“Not a chance.” He laughs guiltily but she just smiles. “I just want to go everywhere with you. Do everything.” He nuzzles her, his cheek brushing against hers. 

“I want to be with you,” she answers in a whisper. 

“Jeeves,” Dean says and the music stops. Dean and Cas keep dancing as the butler leaves the room without a word. Their arms relax from the formal position, her hands moving up to his neck as he grips her waist. 

“Tell me one thing I’m not supposed to know. Something about us.” Her lips are almost touching his and the pull is magnetic. 

“You showed me your wings the first time we met,” he breathes. He can feel her fingers in his hair. “I picked you out of a crowd by the color of your eyes and the beating of my own heart.” He pulls her tighter against him. They’re no longer even pretending to dance, just holding each other as they tease for a kiss. “I am deeply and irrevocably in love with you. Then and now.” He takes a shaky breath. “Are you satisfied?”

She pulls his face to hers, kissing him roughly. “No, I don’t believe I am,” she murmurs against his lips. “I love you, Dean Winchester,” she breathes in between kisses. “I am yours… so take me.” 

Dean stops and pulls away to look at her. She’s serious. He swallows hard before pulling her back against him, kissing her deeply and not holding himself back. He picks her up, her arms tight around his shoulders. She moves her lips to his neck, sucking and biting gently as he walks quicking out of the ballroom and tries to remember how to get to the stairs that lead to his room. It’s hard finding his way around on normal days. It might be impossible with Cas’ mouth on him and all of the blood that should be in his brain down below. 

She tugs at his hair a little and he falls back against a wall, groaning. She kisses his jaw and whispers, “The bedroom, Dean.” He pushes off the wall again to stumble his way to the stairs. They make it to his room and he kicks the door shut before dropping her onto the bed and crawling on top of her, showering her with kisses. Her eyes close as her head falls back, back arching so their bodies are pressed close. She is gorgeous and he can’t breathe. 

Cas makes quick work of his tie, tossing it away before starting on his waistcoat. He pulls off his shirt hastily, flinging it without care of where it falls. She sits up, wrapping her arms around him as she presses a kiss to his upside-down anti-possession tattoo. 

“How?” he asks a little breathlessly as he looks at her dress and steps out of her embrace. 

“Lift the dress and the shift and then destroy this corset because I cannot last another minute without you.” He helps pull the top two layers off with no issue and then he sees the corset. “I know,” she says to his shocked expression. “Tear it apart.”

“I’ll tear you apart, alright,” he threatens with a smile as he pulls her into his arms. Her giggles are everything and they fill the room. He starts pulling at the lacing as fast as he can, loosening it until she shrugs her shoulders and lets it fall at their feet. 

There is no inkling of embarrassment as she stands naked before him. Her skin is smooth, breasts perky, and nipples hard. The only thing she’s left wearing are her silk stockings. Dean gently lowers her back to the bed, kissing her deeply as she pulls at his pants. 

“You are stunning,” Dean groans as he bites her lip. She yanks his pants down and he kicks them the rest of the way off along with his socks and shoes. 

“Dean,” she breathes, her fingers running up his bare back. He kisses her slowly, taking her in and feeling her tremble beneath him as he moves lower. His lips graze her nipple and she lets out a small sigh. Her hand is in his hair again as he licks her. One of his hands travels down the length of her body, tracing every line and curve of her down to her hip. 

He lets his kisses dip down too, letting his lips graze over her stomach and down to her thighs where he kisses back up until he reaches her clit. He keeps his eyes raised so he can watch her face as he licks up her lips and sucks on her. She shivers, her mouth opening in a silent gasp. Her hand tightens in his hair as he continues to lick her already wet lips. 

“I need you,” she moans. He sucks on her clit again and her back arches, one of her hands gripping the sheets. “Dean.” He crawls back up so he’s hovering over her and looks into her flushed face. Her blue eyes swallow him whole. 

He runs his hand down her arm and holds her hand in his before gently entering her. He kisses her neck as he pushes inside of her, loving the sound of her gasp. He moves slowly, rocking his hips as she wraps her stockinged legs around his hips. 

She moans, the breathy words that cross her lips are not exactly English. Dean recognizes it instantly as Enochian because she does this in the future too. He moans back as he thrusts into her. Cas turns her head to kiss him, her tongue passing his lips. Dean moves faster and harder, eliciting a loud moan from Cas. She squeezes his hand as she orgasms under his touch. 

“Fuck, Cas,” Dean groans. He can feel himself on the edge. He wants to go longer. He wants this to not end, but she feels too good. Her pleased noises and sloppy kisses are just sending him over the edge. He shudders as he thrusts deep into her and comes. 

“Dean,” she answers in a whimper. 

When he’s finished, he opens his eyes and looks down into her face. Some of her pins have come out of her hair, the curls messily spread over the pillow. Some of her hair is wet with sweat, stuck to her temples. Her lips are turned up in a small, satisfied smile. She looks blissful, her eyes filled with love as she gazes up at him. 

“God, you’re gorgeous,” he says, sweeping some of her damp hair from her face and kissing her. He rolls off of her and pulls her under the blankets with him, hugging her against him and burying more kisses into her neck. He’s spooning her, wrapped all around her. He couldn’t be more content than he is in this moment. 

“You are my undoing, Dean Winchester,” she sighs happily. 

He runs his hands over her, taking in every inch. She presses against him and guides his wandering hands, leading one up to her breast and the other down between her legs. He slides two fingers between her come-drenched lips and pushes back inside of her, his thumb massaging her clit. He kisses that spot right behind her ear that always made Cas shiver and she does, closing her eyes and giving a soft moan. 

She brings his other hand from her breast up to her mouth and licks the length of his middle finger before sucking it into her mouth. Her hips roll, her ass pressed against his groin and his fingers deep inside of her. 

“Faster,” Cas begs, his finger still in her mouth. She sucks harder as he moves faster. Her chest heaves as she starts to pant again. Dean bites her neck gently to hear her climb up to the next climax. “Dean!” she cries out, forgetting about the hand that he’s taking from her mouth again. He strokes her raised nipple and feels her roll her hips again to move his fingers deeper. 

“Cas,” Dean whispers back. She turns around in his arms to kiss him, her hands releasing his in favor of holding onto him. She has a handful of his ass and another of his hair as she sucks his tongue into her mouth. Her moaning dies down and he slowly takes his fingers out. She goes blissfully limp against him, her flushed cheeks and dazed expression telling him everything he needs to know. She takes his hand, the one that’s dripping with a mixture of her come and his, and licks it up. 

“That,” Dean says, lying on his back and pulling her against him so she can rest her head on his bare chest, “was amazing.” 

“That was incredible,” she agrees breathlessly as he kisses the top of her head. 

The day passes by with lingering kisses and tangled up limbs. Cas’ long hair is free of every pin, the curls tumbling over their shared pillow. There’s a whole other half of the bed, but Dean and Cas snuggle close. Dean traces invisible hearts over her skin while she connects all of his freckles with a delicate finger. 

“We can’t stay in bed forever,” she says softly. 

“What outside world? Outside doesn’t exist. Just stay,” he begs, pulling her close to him and burying his face in her chest. She laughs as he kisses everywhere he can reach in an attempt to make her stay. 

“We can’t,” she says again. “I do have to return home and ask permission to attend the ball with you.” 

“How will that work?” Dean asks, suddenly looking back up at her. “Do I meet you there or do I get to pick you up in my fancy carriage?” 

“You will arrive at my residence to escort me to the ball. Knock on the door and wait in the foyer until I make an entrance that my mother will make me practice countless times before your arrival. We will depart and arrive at the ball. You will help me in and out of your  _ fancy _ carriage. We will go into the ball, be announced together, which is sure to turn some heads, and attend the ball. At the end of the night, you’ll take me home in that  _ fancy _ carriage and walk me to my door.” 

“There’s no chance your family will say no to me taking you?” he asks, playing with one of her long locks of hair. 

“No,” she smiles. “They’re all pretty fond of you and our match.” She kisses his nose quickly before sighing. “Now unhand me and help me get dressed.” 

“But you look so good without anything on,” he whines. He rolls over and out of bed, grabbing his pants and pulling them on before going to hunt down her various dresses. She sits up on the bed and stretches out her arms. All of her hair is cascading down her shoulders and it stops Dean momentarily as he watches her. 

“What?” 

“Nothing.” He clears his throat and goes to pick up her corset. “It’s just if you want me out of bed, you’re going about it the wrong way.” 

She gets off the bed and goes to him, cupping his face for a kiss before taking her corset from him. “Help me lace this.” 

“I have no idea what I’m doing,” he says as he takes the lacings and starts to pull them tight. “Is this too tight?”

“If I can still breathe, it’s too loose,” she jokes. It catches him by surprise. Cas rarely jokes. He laughs softly and pulls tighter until she nods. She pulls on her shift and dress and begins trying to find all of her hairpins. He wants to hide every single one of them and keep her hair down forever. It’s gorgeous, the dark thick curls that he had just been running his hands through. He grabs her by the waist and pulls her back to him. 

“Are you going to go home?” he asks as he hugs her from behind. Her hands hold his in that embrace and she hums.

“I have to, yes. We have been in this room for hours and I am expected to be at home tonight.” He lets go again and finishes dressing himself as she collects her pins and seats herself at his vanity to pull her hair back into the complicated updo. 

“Are you going to dance with other people tomorrow?” he asks as he watches her in the mirror. Her eyes find his and she shakes her head a little. 

“We can’t have every dance, but I will sit them out if they’re not with you,” she promises. “There will be talk.” 

“What’ll they say?” Her eyes flicker between his and her hair that she’s still pinning up. 

“They’ll notice,” she says. “They’ll notice and they whisper like I’ve heard my mother whisper about other ladies. There will be talk of my dancing partners as there is already talk about your lack of interest in anyone other than me. There’s sure to be mention of our arrival and departure together. They might think you’re preparing to ruin me or propose.” 

Propose. His heart skips a beat. He’d known that was the only direction this could go, especially after that dinner with her family, but it still fills his stomach with butterflies to think of himself married to Cas. His mind drifts to fantasies of sinking down on one knee with a diamond ring as he looks up into her dazzling blue eyes. He’s already basically given up the hunting life, but this would be actually settling down. He would have a wife and a home to take care of. He’s ready to wake up next to her every morning and kiss her gently. He’s ready to stop calling her Miss Novak and hear Mrs. Winchester instead. 

“Dean?” He snaps out of it and looks at Cas. Her hair is finished and she looks ready to go. She’s even stepped back into her shoes. “I do have to leave, darling.”

“I know.” He nods and gets up. “I’ll walk you out.” 

Dean hasn’t been down in the Men of Letters room since he’d stopped studying with Cas. He sits on the floor outside of the room now that Cas has gone home. He stares at the symbol and remembers the British Men of Letters back in his time. Their pompous attitudes and accents. Their fancy gadgets and disregard for anything other than themselves. 

“Mr. Winchester?” Mr. Butler starts when he finds Dean. “Are you ill?”

“No. Can we mail things? Like a lot of things?” He looks up at his worried butler but doesn’t make a move to stand up. 

“What did you have in mind, sir?” 

Dean sighs as he makes up his mind. He’s going to leave behind hunting. He doesn’t have a brother to hunt with and his car doesn’t exist. None of his weapons are around. The internet is a long way from being invented. Not to mention, he has plans. He has plans that involve a ring and a kiss. Sure, Cas is an angel, but they can find a way to escape the life. They kind of already have. 

“Everything in this room needs to be sent to my relatives in America,” he says, standing finally. “I have the address. I just don’t know how to do it. Will you help me?”

“Everything, sir?” 

“Everything but the furniture,” he amends. 

“Who would you like to send with the boxes, sir?” Mr. Butler asks, probably while making a mental list of everything as he asks Dean. 

“Someone has to go with them?” He hadn’t thought about it. It will be nothing like ordering something on Amazon. “I don’t know.”

“I do know of a local boy, Edward Durbin, who wishes to go to the Americas and could deliver the crates, if I may be so bold.” 

Dean nods slowly. “Only you and I can pack this though, okay?” Dean asks seriously. Mr. Butler doesn’t question it as he bows his head in acceptance. 


	7. Chapter 7

The ballroom is glittering with life. People dance and others chatter on the edges of the dancefloor. Candles illuminate the room, their light making the glass of the chandeliers sparkle. Everything looks different and more fantastical, romantic, but that’s probably because this is the first ball that Castiel has attended with Dean Winchester. 

“Mr. Dean Winchester and Miss Grace Novak,” was how they had been announced upon their entrance, her hand delicately placed over Dean’s. It’s the first ball she’s attended without Mrs. Novak. The first ball where she arrived in the Winchester carriage. The first. 

Dean, of course, has her first dance even if it isn’t just the two of them. A cotillion involves four couples, but they might as well have been alone for the rest of the room seems to dim when she’s with him. The noise quiets under her own beating heart. After their first dance, Dean had gone to find them both drinks, leaving her to watch the dancing and eavesdrop on the gossip-laced conversations. 

_“Mr. Winchester is here tonight. With Grace Novak.”  
__  
_ _“Do you think he will propose soon?”  
__  
_ _“Do you think her father knows?”  
__  
_ _“He is a fine gentleman. Has anyone but Grace ever danced with him?”  
__  
_ _“I haven’t heard of anyone who has.”  
__  
_ “Cassie, darling,” Balthazar greets her suddenly. She hadn’t known he would be here. “I wasn’t expecting you on account that I failed to invite you. This is interesting.”  
  
“This is your ball.” She should have known. 

“Lovely, isn’t it?” His grin is smug. “Did I hear correctly that you arrived with a Mr. Winchester?” 

“I…” She can’t exactly deny it. Everyone is talking about it and they’d been announced upon their entrance. Not to mention, Dean is soon to return to her side with drinks in hand and her name on his lips. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she says anyway. Balthazar laughs. 

“Well, that was convincing.” Luckily, he spots someone else he needs to speak to. “Have fun,” he says to Castiel with a grin that is more befitting of an imp than an angel. 

She looks around the room and smiles to herself. She and Dean won’t be the only talk of the ball. There’s a couple in the corner standing awfully close. She knows she’s not the only one watching them as the gentleman tilts the lady’s chip up with the tip of his finger and steals a quick kiss that he no doubt thinks was quick enough not to be seen. A woman near Castiel gasps and a few others giggle. 

“What’d I miss?” Dean asks as he hands Castiel her drink. 

“Mr. Douglas just kissed Miss Smith,” she says in a hushed whisper as everyone else currently is. “Scandalous behavior.”

“Scandalous,” Dean agrees with a lopsided smile. “Did we know they liked each other?” 

“Miss Smith and Miss Rogers have been battling for his affections very obviously. He has danced more with Miss Rogers to be sure, but I don’t believe she was invited to this ball. If he doesn’t propose to Miss Smith soon there will be more talk than just what will be said of that kiss.” It wouldn’t surprise her if Balthazar knew about it and only invited one of the girls to stir up this kind of gossip. It appeared he’d invited Dean with the same intention. 

“Why do so many people want to get in his pants?” Dean asks with his strange wording that Castiel is still trying to decipher. She’s only moderately sure that he means why are there multiple women who want to marry Mr. Douglas. 

“He earns five thousand a year and is the eldest of his brothers. His inheritance will be large and he is already quite well off. Marrying him would raise Miss Smith’s station and assure her of a secure future.” 

“That’s so shallow,” he says, shaking his head. “Are you sure she doesn’t just like him? I mean, she’s kissing him in a ballroom full of people.” 

“I will admit: she could have terrible taste in men and just be smitten,” Castiel concedes. Dean chokes on a laugh and covers his mouth. 

“Oh my god,” he snickers behind his hand. Once the current dance and his laughter dies down, Dean puts his empty glass down and offers his arm to Castiel. “This one’s a waltz. I heard someone mention it when I was getting drinks.” 

The waltz is by far Dean’s favorite. It might be because it was one of the first that Castiel properly taught him to do but she suspected it had more to do with the fact that it’s closer contact. It’s a dance for two, the dancefloor filled with swirling couples, their hands clasped and their bodies close together. She takes his arm without protest. It’s one of her favorites too for all of the same reasons. During the waltz she can count the freckles that adorn his face or get lost in the green of his eyes. 

_ “They do make a smart match,” _ Castiel hears as she’s pulled onto the dancefloor. Her heart soars. They get into dancing positions and she smiles up at Dean. 

“What?” he asks with a crooked smile as the music starts and they begin to dance. 

“I’m happy,” she says honestly. Once upon a time that would have been a foreign concept. She wasn’t permitted or programmed to feel the way humans do. They were soldiers. Nothing more. She hadn’t believed that emotions were something she would have, not that she had longed for them. They were just behind a locked door for humans. Dean had given her the key and the curiosity to open the door. She’s an angel who defies Heaven with her laughter. She disobeys her orders, her superiors, by daring to fall in love. Now she feels free, liberated by her excitement, joy, fear, uncertainty, and doubt in Heaven. 

“How do you do that?” Dean asks, his voice low as they dance. 

“Do what?” 

“You smile and I’m putty in your hands. That look on your face right now. That’s the one I’m talking about. I would do anything for you.” His eyes flicker from her eyes to her mouth and she feels herself blush. 

“Would you?” she teases gently. He nods, his eyes darting back up to hers. 

“Meet me in that room after the dance. You’ll go first and I will follow.” She glances over at the door that she knows will lead them off to someplace private if not an adventure in trying to find one. When she looks back up at him he nods, a small smile on his lips. 

The dance ends and Dean bows as she dips into a polite curtsy. He winks which makes her knees turn to jelly and then she does her best not to watch him go to the door she instructed him to. She leaves the dance floor and waits by the wall for a moment. 

Two gentlemen approach and she knows they’re asking for a dance but she couldn’t care less. She’s counting seconds before she can follow Dean behind closed doors. “I am sorry,” she says absently, fanning herself gently. “I am overwrought and must sit this dance out. Excuse me.” 

She walks across the floor to the door and slips inside, closing it quickly and hoping not many people noticed. Dean pushes himself off of the wall he had been leaning against. They’re in a hallway with many doors. She grins as he takes her hand.

“Come on.” They run through the hallway, filling it with shrieks of laughter and echoes of footsteps. It feels forbidden and borderline magical if she didn’t know that magic actually existed. He opens a random door and she runs inside. He checks over his shoulder and into the empty hallway before following her in and shutting the door. 

No hesitation exists between them anymore. The second the door is closed, she’s in his arms with his mouth on hers. They hit a wall and a few books tumble to the ground. She pulls his hips against hers so she can feel him against her. One of his hands is on her ass. She has no objections. She wants to climb him like a tree, but the dress is in her way. Cas rolls her head back, exposing her neck for Dean. His lips descend to her throat and she gasps, clinging to him as he kisses and sucks. 

“I bloody knew it,” Balthazar says from the doorway. Cas’ eyes snap open as she and Dean stop to look. They still haven’t let go of each other, but their grips have loosened. “You’ve met once or twice have you? Fancy him and it’ll pass, was it?”

“Balthazar?” Dean asks. Since when does Dean know who Balthazar is? Castiel and Balthazar both turn to look at him. “What the fuck are you doing here?” 

“How do you know him?” Castiel asks at the same time that Balthazar asks, “Have we met?”

“Uhm. Fuck? No. I’m sorry.” Dean releases Cas a little more and looks at the wall. He knows Balthazar from his future. 

“This isn’t what it looks like,” Castiel tries. Dean and Balthazar both laugh.

“It’s kinda exactly what it looks like, Cas,” Dean mutters. 

“I like him,” Balthazar says. “What are you  _ doing _ , Castiel? Pray tell us what your plan is here? You do realize that this is insane, don’t you?”

“Heaven is wrong,” Castiel says vehemently for the first time in her existence. “You have to keep this a secret or I will kill you.” He puts his hands up. 

“I won’t tell a soul. I’ll even go so far as to offer my protection,” Balthazar says. “Just…” He glances at Dean. “I need to speak with you, Castiel.”  She follows Balthazar into the hallway and crosses her arms over her chest, refusing to take another step. “You do remember our mission, don’t you?”

“Yes,” she says, glancing back at the door. 

“Do keep your legs closed, darling. He  _ is  _ a human and you two are dangerously close to being hunted by Heaven.” She doesn’t answer, only continues to glare. “I promise you my protection, but do be careful with him.” 

“I know what I’m doing,” she insists. 

He smiles and runs a hand over his face in an exasperated manner. “I don’t believe you do.” He lowers his voice to a harsh whisper as he says, “We are here to  _ prevent _ a nephilim.” 

“We haven’t done anything,” she lies. 

“Keep it that way.” She’s surprised he believes her after so many of her other lies couldn’t pass him half as easily. “How does he know me? Did you tell him about me?”

“Yes,” she lies again. She and Dean would definitely be in more danger if anyone knew when he was from. He could be killed or someone would try to send him back. Even though she had tried to send him back, she’s far from wanting him anywhere else now. “Did you only invite him to find us out?”

“Absolutely. Now, I must return and be a good host. Go home and be a good angel,” he says lightly but she can hear the warning. She watches Balthazar vanish, using his wings to travel inconspicuously. 

Dean knocks on the door and she opens it. “What now?” he asks. 

“We return to the ballroom separately, share one more dance, and make an exit.” He pulls her back to him and kisses her again, their fingers lacing together between them. “Wait before following me,” she orders in a soft tone. He nods and reluctantly lets her go. 

At the end of the night when there are enough whispers about Mr. Dean Winchester and Miss Grace Novak, they decide to add one more story for people to talk about. Dean offers his hand to help Castiel up into his carriage before following her in. That will keep their tongues wagging until they get engaged.  _ If _ they get engaged. Dean hasn’t asked yet. And besides, angels don’t get married, but it’s not every day that an angel falls this deeply in love. 

As soon as they find themselves alone in the carriage, Cas moves to sit next to him on his seat. Dean pulls her into his lap and kisses her, one hand cupping her jaw. Her arms wind around him. There’s something about him that drives her wild. 

The carriage moves, the sound of the wheels and horse hooves drowning out everything else and creating their own private bubble. Dean’s arm is wrapped protectively around her waist so that she doesn’t move when the carriage is jostled, but all she can feel is how hard he’s getting under her thigh. 

The hand on her jaw slips down to her breast as he bites her lip. When he releases, she slips her tongue into his mouth and gives a quiet moan of encouragement when he sucks gently. Dean skips the trail of kisses this time, going straight to her bosom as he pulls at the front of her dress. She can feel the deep ache within her as he frees her breast and licks her hard nipple. 

“Dean,” she whimpers under his touch. 

“Shh.” He lifts his mouth to hers again, muffling her noises with kisses. 

“I want you inside of me,” she groans into his mouth as she reaches down and pulls at the front of his trousers. One button comes undone. She pulls again and a second follows. She gets off his lap for a moment and he finishes undoing his pants as she hikes up her skirts and climbs on top of him to straddle him. 

He holds her hips as she lowers herself onto him. He groans as she lets out something of a sigh and a gasp. He kisses her breasts as her head falls back, too preoccupied with the feeling of him. She moves slowly at first with his hands guiding her movements up and down. She holds onto him, her arms over his shoulders and hands up in his hair.

She picks up the pace, riding him harder. She thinks he moans her name into her chest, but she’s reached her own point of ecstasy. She lets out a pleasured sigh, her heart and breaths racing together. Cas, shaking with orgasm, stops pumping in favor of rolling her hips against his, feeling him reach deeper. His grip on her ass tightens and her head falls forward. Her eyes shut tight as she pants, trying to suppress the moan that’s building in her. She throws her head back again and her moan is loud enough that Dean takes one of his hands from her hips and gives her his fingers to suck on, which she does. 

She goes back to riding him how she had been before, sliding on his stiff cock. The only difference is now she has Dean’s fingers in her mouth to muffle the whimpers. He feels huge inside of her. By the sounds he’s making and the gentle rock of his own hips against hers becoming harder thrusts, she can tell he’s close. 

When Dean climaxes, he fills her completely. She stops moving, planting herself firmly down so their hips are pressed together and his entire length is buried inside of her as he comes. Cas lifts his face to hers and kisses him, replacing his fingers in her mouth with his tongue. 

“Fuck, you feel good,” he groans. 

“Shh,” she reminds him, kissing him again. There’s something about post-coital bliss that feels addicting and somehow like it suspends time. 

“I don’t think it matters anymore,” he laughs a little. “You were riding me hard enough to rock the entire carriage.” 

“I will not apologize,” she smiles, touching the tip of her nose to his affectionately. 

“I wouldn’t want you to.”

She climbs off of him and lets her skirts fall back into place as she pulls the top back up and into its proper place. Some of his come drips down her thigh, but she ignores it as she sits next to him, helping him button up his pants again. 

“Did you have fun tonight?” Dean asks as he wraps an arm around her so she can cuddle against his side. 

“I enjoyed myself. Thank you for inviting me.” She feels his cheek rest against the top of her head and she closes her eyes, enjoying his affection, his embrace, him. “I should like to stay like this all night…” 

“But we’re almost there.” His voice is soft as if he regrets the coming portion of the evening where he has to leave her at her door and bid her goodnight. She hopes that’s what he’s feeling anyway because then their hearts would match. 

They fall into a comfortable silence as Dean holds her and she daydreams about what it might be like to fall asleep against his shoulder like this. What it might be like to fall asleep at all. She imagines that if she were a being that required sleep, right now she might be comfortable and content enough to drift off. She closes her eyes and pretends that the drumming of his heart and warmth of his touch has the power to lull her to sleep. 

“I love you,” he whispers after a few minutes into the silence of their carriage. She opens her eyes again and looks up at him. 

“I love you,” Cas answers. She wants to know what he’s been thinking about. If she could listen to him talk for hours or days, she would. “Kiss me goodbye before we can’t,” she asks. He smiles softly and presses a kiss to her lips that lingers. 

The carriage rolls to a stop and they separate, her taking the empty seat that was meant for her in the first place and Dean donning the hat that he had tossed to the floor the second he’d entered the carriage earlier. The chauffeur opens the door and steps to the side so Dean can climb down. Cas takes his hand to exit and his arm to walk to the door. 

“I know we just kissed goodbye, but I want to again,” Dean says quietly as they walk the path that leads to the door. She can already see Mrs. Novak and Isabel in the windows. Her mother looks excited and hopeful. Isabel looks like she might cry. 

“You are not alone in that sentiment,” Cas reassures him. “Goodnight, Dean.”

“Goodnight, Cas.” He kisses her hand and returns to his carriage as she steps into her house. 

“Are you in love with him?” Isabel demands as soon as Cas walks in. 

“Isabel!” Mrs. Novak scolds. “How did it go? Was he the perfect gentleman? Do you think he will propose soon?”

“Because I am sure that I’m in love with him,” Isabel pouts. 

“I do think he will propose,” Cas says and realizes she believes it. She tries not to grin too wide at the prospect. “He was indeed the perfect gentleman. And yes, I do believe that I am in love with Mr. Winchester.” 

Her mother flails her hands excitedly as Isabel wails. Cas hides a smile and excuses herself to bed. Changing into the nightgown is welcome even if she doesn’t sleep. The corset is tight and the dress confining. It feels good to wear only one layer, especially after wishing she’d been wearing none earlier in the evening. As she takes the pins from her hair, she watches the curls fall down her shoulders and remembers the look in Dean’s eyes when he’d seen her hair down like this in his bedroom. It could have been the love-making. It could have been her naked form. But that look is not one she could easily forget. 

“Mother is making me apologize,” Isabel says from the doorway as Cas brushes her hair. 

“You shall find someone in your own time,” Cas promises her. It sounds strange coming from her mouth. Who is she to talk of her own time when she’s lived for millennia and she intends to marry a man from the future? 

“He is so beautiful. I should die if I meet someone more attractive,” Isabel proclaims, flopping onto the bed she shares with Cas. She has a flair for the dramatic and she’s much too young. Her courting won’t begin for another few years yet and by then, Cas and Dean will be happily married and Isabel will have forgotten all about the idea of her death upon meeting someone better looking than Dean. 

“He is quite handsome, but I don’t believe you will die due to his attractive nature.” Cas puts her brush down and turns around to face her sister. “Besides, you like to dance and Mr. Winchester barely dances.”

“I heard that he only dances so little because he reserves every dance for you.” 

“Who have you been gossiping with?” There is nothing to say to console this child who believes Dean to be the only beauty on the planet. 

“It matters not. Saving every dance for you is as romantic as any man can be and he’s the only one to do it.” 

Cas tucks Isabel into bed before climbing into her side. She blows out the candle and buries her face in her pillow to cover the blush that feels hot enough to be seen in the dark. This is where she wishes she could sleep so that maybe she could dream. She makes do with the dark and the quiet, sketching out Dean’s features in her mind and summoning just the right shade of green that she now favors over all else. 

“Tell me about the ball in the morning,” Isabel yawns.

“I will. Goodnight.”


	8. Chapter 8

It’s been three days since the ball on Saturday. Dean and Mr. Butler are still packing the crates that will be America bound in just a few more days. It had all been arranged with Edward Durbin. Dean would pay for his passage to America and enough spending money to start a life there in return for delivering everything to the Men of Letters Bunker. 

Dean lifts a scimitar carefully from its holder and thinks back to when he had first walked into the Men of Letters Bunker and seen this particular blade. He’d sliced his finger on it while airing his doubts to Sam. If it was at the Bunker in the future, then these crates make it there and maybe Dean is supposed to be here right now. 

“Do you have any siblings, Jeeves?” Dean asks as he wraps the scimitar in cloth and packs it. 

“Sir?” 

“I have a brother,” Dean tells his butler. It feels like a secret. “He just lives very, very far away.”

“I also have a brother,” Mr. Butler says, carefully stacking books into a box. “I’ve not seen him since we were boys.” Dean looks up at him and wonders how little he knows about this man who spends every single day with him. 

“Do you miss him?”

“Every day, sir.” Mr. Butler clears his throat and grabs another stack of books. 

“Will you tell me about him?” Dean asks, rolling up his sleeves before sealing the crate he’d been filling with weapons. 

Mr. Butler nods and sighs, thinking. “My older brother was kind. He took half the burden of raising me when our father passed though he wasn’t much older than me. There was a pond we would play in when the heat struck during those Summer days. His favorite game to play was pitch and toss until he started working in the stables.” Mr. Butler laughs a little at the memory. “There was a day he had returned from the stables covered in filth. Head to toe he was caked in mud and dung. Our poor mother. She dragged him out of our quarters by the ear and left him to clean himself with the pond water.”

“What a badass,” Dean smiles. “Where is he now? Still working in stables?”

“I wouldn’t know, sir. He was given another job and sent money for mother and me but the payments stopped and soon I found my job here. I did write to tell him where to find me if he should want to, but I’ve not heard from him in twenty years. I had heard rumors that he took the King’s shilling and was lost in the war, but I prefer to believe he lives.”

“Oh.” Dean watches his butler pack more books, his smile faded and sad. Sam must feel the same. Dean had disappeared with no clue to where he had gone. All Sam can do is hope that wherever Dean vanished to, he’s alive. Knowing their lives though, Sam probably gave up after a few months. He probably let himself go through the five stages with Cas. Maybe he hit another dog. “Then he’s alive,” Dean says, nodding to Mr. Butler. 

They go back to their quiet packing, but more curiosity munches away at Dean the longer they work. The room is almost empty now and he feels like time is running out for him to talk so casually with Jeeves. Maybe the magic of working on the room will wear off once it’s finished and the door will be closed again. 

“Can I ask you more questions?” Dean asks as he hands Mr. Butler a box of folders. 

“I believe you just did, sir,” Mr. Butler says with the hint of a joke. 

“I can’t believe you just pulled that on me.” Dean laughs and shakes his head. “Okay, so what do you do for fun then? Because I never see you getting ready for any balls or anything. Do you date or court or whatever? Like are you going to get married ever? Where do you sleep? I don’t know where your room is and I mean I get that I don’t know most of the rooms around this place, but still.”

“One question at a time, sir,” Mr. Butler chuckles softly. “I do not attend balls of any kind. That is above my station. You would have to give your permission for any of us to go and  _ have fun _ . I have attended a few festivals, but nothing too extravagant.” 

“Why didn’t you tell me that? I would have given you guys permission like months ago. I feel like an asshole.” Dean slumps over one of the crates. “When is the next thing you wanna go to?” 

“I haven’t looked, sir, but I will look into it. Thank you.” 

“Okay, what about ladies?” He wants to ask if maybe gentlemen are on the menu, but he doesn’t know how Mr. Butler would react. It’s probably safer not to broach the subject of sexual orientation. “Do you date?”

“I do not  _ date _ .” Mr. Butler says, sitting up a little straighter. 

“Okay, okay,” Dean laughs. “Where do you sleep? Is there like another wing upstairs I haven’t found yet?” 

“We don’t sleep upstairs,” Mr. Butler says, slightly scandalized. “I don’t find it out of the question that you haven’t found many of the rooms in this manor, but no. We sleep downstairs in the servant’s quarters.” 

“We have servants quarters?!” Dean sits up again.

“ _ You _ have servant’s quarters, sir,” Mr. Butler corrects and affirms. 

“I really need to take a tour of this house,” Dean sighs. “Didn’t even know I have servant’s quarters.” Jeeves smiles a little and finishes closing the last crate. 

“It appears this task has been completed. Mr. Durbin’s ship is set to leave on Friday and will collect the crates on Thursday. Will that be all, sir?” Mr. Butler asks as he stands and straightens his coat. 

“Yeah. Thanks, Jeeves.” 

Dean is floating on his back in a lake on the grounds he just found out he owns. He’d been in the study looking at drawings when he’d noticed one of what looked like his estate. When he’d asked Jeeves about it, he’d been informed that yes, he owned the estate, the grounds, and far more land than he knew what to do with. So Dean had gone for a hike to explore and decided to go have a Darcy moment. 

He’s sure that in Pride and Prejudice, the only reason Mr. Darcy even undresses to swim in his lake was to have a sexy Colin Firth moment. So what’s stopping him from having a sexy Dean Winchester moment? 

He opens his eyes, staring up at the clear blue sky. The world is muffled by the water. Will he wake up? Will this be the strangely peaceful end to a really good dream? Will he wake up on the battlefield of that warehouse with Cas and Sam telling him to stay with them and open his eyes? 

“Dean?” Cas’ voice calls. He jerks and dips under the water for a moment before righting himself and looking up at her. “What are you doing completely naked in a lake?” 

“Having a Colin Firth moment,” he mumbles. She tilts her head to the side in confusion. “Nothing. What’re you doing here? I thought you were coming tomorrow?” 

“I finished shopping early and decided to extend my trip here before returning home,” she says, kneeling beside the lake. He swims to her and lifts himself high enough to kiss her. 

“The water is actually really nice. You could join me,” he says when he drops back down into the water and floats a little ways away from her. 

“Wouldn’t it be noticeable when I return home drenched?” She dips her finger into the water and swirls it, rings rippling out from her touch to reach Dean. 

“Cas. You are literally an angel. Mojo it so you’re dry after or something. Isn’t that a thing?” She nods and stands, undressing herself in the light of day. Not some candlelit room or the dark privacy of a carriage. He swallows hard as he watches the layers drop into the grass. He’s mesmerized by her as she rolls her stockings down and discards them with the dresses. She pulls her hair loose and the corners of her lips pull up when Dean grins. “Jump in.”

She leaps in, the water splashing as she hits the water in an elegant dive. When she resurfaces, Cas swims around Dean. He doesn’t try to hide that she holds all of his attention, following her and spinning in a slow circle to watch. After a full lap, she swims to him, wrapping her legs around his waist and withholding a kiss, their lips a breath away. His arms wind around her to keep her close to him. If he were in the center of the lake, this would be a problem as his feet don’t touch the bottom. But he’s closer to the sides now, his feet in the mud as he holds her. 

“You know, I used to be this totally smooth guy. I was cool and full of pick-up lines. Then I met you and you tear me apart. I fall apart in your hands and I wouldn’t change it for anything.” 

“How do you say things in a language I don’t yet understand and I still find it just as romantic as if I understood the words?” she asks softly, her breath on his lips. 

“Don’t worry about it. You don’t understand me in the future either.” 

Cas kisses him, her wet hand cupping his jaw. She breaks the kiss to smile and look into his eyes. He has no objections. He spins slowly, letting his hands slide from her back to her hips. She stretches her arms out above her head when she hits the water again. Her hair swirls, leaving a mermaid-style streak of midnight hair behind her as he spins. 

Dean feels himself getting harder, her ass pressed against his groin as she stretches out, her breasts showered in sunlight and her skin smooth and glowing. He pulls her back up to him and kisses her roughly, her returning kiss just as urgent. He walks to the edge of the lake with her mouth on his and vaguely wonders how he still has the ability to walk. 

He climbs out of the water with her still attached to him by the everything. Her legs are still wrapped tightly around his waist, her arms hugging him to her, her tongue in his mouth. Dean lowers her to the grass and she relaxes her legs so she can reach one hand between them and stroke a finger from his balls to the tip of his already hard dick. He groans when her finger circles the sensitive tip and kisses her harder. 

Their bodies are slick from their swim, but they’re quickly warming under the heat of the afternoon sun. A beautiful angel is sprawled naked beneath him, her kisses starting fires within him. His hand runs the length of her body, memorizing every curve blindly. 

She guides his dick into her with a gentle gasp, her hand that had been teasing, finding its way to his ass. He pushes all the way into her and groans. Her free hand finds his and their fingers lace together as he rocks his hips and pushes back into her again.

As his rhythm picks up, she starts to breathe harder, moaning and whimpering as they move together. He moves his lips to her neck and bites gently before sucking, her responsive moan music to his ears. 

“Dean,” she breathes, both of her hands tightening and her back arching. “Dean!” 

“Fuck, Cas,” he groans back into her neck. 

When her first wave of ecstasy leaves, letting her regain control, she flips them so Dean is on his back with Cas on top of him, her mouth on his again as she rides his cock hard. Their tongues in each other’s mouths, their quick breaths only mix together as they pant. 

It kills him when Cas takes control like that. It’s hot and he feels like he belongs to her in every sense. She bows her forehead to his, her eyes connected with his, eyebrows upturned in the middle. He squeezes her hand, eyes shutting as he wills himself not to come. Not yet. He wants to hear her moan again, feel her tremble under another wave. Just one more. 

She grinds her hips against his. He can feel how deep he is. He bites his lip. He’s not going to be able to hold out for much longer with how she’s moving. She shakes a little, the loud moan he was waiting for coming from her. He groans with her, filling her with his come. Her breath hitches with every rope he shoots. 

“Fill me,” she begs for more. He thinks he’s out but she rolls her hips to pump more from him. It works and he sucks in a breath. 

“Fucking hell, Cas,” he breathes when she finally accepts that he’s on empty and dismounts. She grins up at him as she curls up against him. He pulls her to him and idly draws shapes on her sun-kissed skin. They’re quiet as they cuddle, letting their breathing return to normal. He wonders how long they can get away with being out here without getting dressed. 

The answer is not long. Cas suddenly sits bolt upright. Dean props himself up on his elbows and runs a hand down her arm. “Cas?”

“I have to go,” she says, but she doesn’t move for a moment. “I have to go,” she says again. This time she gets up and starts scrambling to get all of her clothes. He helps her get dressed without worrying about his clothes because of the strange look in her eyes. It’s something like panic and realization mixed together. 

“Are you sure?” he asks as she shoves her hairpins into her coat pocket instead of even trying to fix her wild sex hair. She nods and pulls on her shoes. “Are you coming back tomorrow?”

She stops moving to look up at him, the panic melting away for a moment. “Of course.” She finishes with her shoes as he puts on his pants. “Perhaps? Most likely. I will see you tomorrow, love.” She interrupts his dressing with a kiss, their lips sliding together effortlessly and leaving him wanting more. The second the kiss is over, she breaks into a run across the open fields. He watches her go until she suddenly vanishes, her angel wings taking her farther and faster than her legs can. 


	9. Chapter 9

After fleeing from Dean to her carriage to be taken home, she was left to think with no noise louder than the pounding of her heart as it pumped anxiety through her. She had felt the surge of power come from within her. A nephilim had been conceived and she is the expecting mother. She rests a hand over her stomach and closes her eyes. The other angels would have felt the surge too. They probably all know. Her only hope is that they don’t know it’s her. That they don’t know it’s Dean. 

She pulls herself up and starts to redo her hair before putting her bonnet back on. She’d left the bonnet in the carriage when she’d gone to go find Dean. She’s glad for that or she would have left it by the lake in her hurry to leave. 

The second the carriage stops, Cas throws open the door without waiting for the chauffeur and doubles over in the grass to purge. Having not eaten in days, the only thing that comes up is water and bile. That has never happened before. Her mother rushes out of the house calling her vessel’s name. 

“Grace! Are you ill? Grace!” Mrs. Novak kneels beside her and feels her forehead to check for a temperature. 

“I don’t feel well,” Cas says which isn’t entirely a lie. She lets her mother help her up and walk inside, the shopping from earlier in the day forgotten in the carriage. She’s helped out of her dresses and into her nightgown even though it’s well before time for bed. She doesn’t protest, climbing into bed and curling into a ball with her arms wrapped tight around her middle. 

It’s after dinner when Isabel comes in. She doesn’t say anything as she quietly dresses for bed and carefully gets into bed as if she would wake Cas. She couldn’t because Cas doesn’t sleep, but she appreciates the sudden gentleness. The whole Novak family is probably scared for the last time Grace was sick, she almost died from smallpox. And then there’s Cas who knows she isn’t dying of a mortal sickness. Her death could still be coming if anyone knew. 

“Grace?” Isabel whispers. 

“Yes, Isabel?” Cas answers without rolling over. She feels Isabel’s hand gently rest on her shoulder. 

“Is this like last time?” Her voice trembles and Cas turns over finally. 

“No, this will not be like last time.” She pulls her crying sister into her arms and holds her, rubbing circles into her back as she shakes. “I promise you.” She kisses the top of her head and stays holding her as Isabel falls asleep. 

In the morning, Castiel dons her robe in time for her mother to walk into the room and gasp. “What on Earth are you doing out of bed?” she ushers Cas back to bed with her waving hands and insistence. “You need rest!”

“Yes, mother,” Cas says, more obedient to her vessel’s loving family than her family in Heaven. 

“We must get you well again!” Mrs. Novak sits on the edge of the bed and sweeps Cas’ hair away from her face. “My sweet girl.” 

“I do feel much improved from yesterday.” It’s not a lie. She’s still fearful, but she no longer feels ill enough to expel anything else. 

“If you are still well by tonight, you can leave this room tomorrow. Until then, rest!” Cas nods and her mother leaves the room so Isabel can enter carrying a tray of breakfast. 

“What is Mr. Winchester’s manor like? I’ve heard it’s extravagant,” Isabel says as she sits at the end of the bed. 

Hungry, Cas digs into her breakfast of a very thin porridge with some bread and honey. Hungry? She swallows slowly and looks up from her plate to Isabel. “It is. There are many rooms and vast grounds. You would like it, but you haven’t yet found anything to dislike about Mr. Winchester, have you?” she teases lightly. 

Isabel’s cheeks turn pink. “I dislike that he has affections for you. Whatever shall I do if he chooses to marry you?” She shakes her head. “I also love how he likes you so,” she groans. “There is nothing to dislike about him. Besides his odd behavior at times, but I do find that endearing.” 

“As do I,” Cas smiles. She eats more as her sister swoons. The taste still isn’t something she particularly enjoys, but she’s ravenous and finishes the entire tray. 

“I do envy you,” Isabel says with a sigh. 

It’s tea time when there’s a knock on the door. Isabel, who has hardly left Cas’ side all day except to fetch her meals, runs to their bedroom door to listen. She opens the door a little and peeks out. Cas gets out of bed and joins her. 

Dean is at the door. Her heart jumps. 

“Go listen,” Cas whispers, shoving Isabel out of their room and following her. They peek over the railing that looks out over the foyer. 

“I regret to tell you that Grace is sick today, Mr. Winchester,” Mrs. Novak says sadly, wringing her hands. A flash of worry crosses his face, his eyebrows knitting together but only for a moment. He composes his face, but his hands are still gripping his hat for dear life. 

“I came to talk to Mr. Novak, actually,” Dean says. Cas makes a strange noise in the back of her throat and flattens herself against the wall before Dean can look up if he’d heard her. 

“He’s coming to speak to  _ Father _ ?” Isabel whispers, looking at Cas with wide blue eyes. 

“Follow them!” Cas hisses, her heart racing as she listens to Dean walking toward her father’s office. Isabel scrambles to her feet and makes her way quickly down the stairs as Cas stays where she sits, her back against the wall. 

It’s a full hour, Cas counted each of the 3,600 seconds that passed, before Dean leaves the office. Cas sits up again to see him at the door again. 

“I will return on Friday if she’s well enough for visitors,” Dean says to her mother. He bows and turns for the door. The second he’s gone, her mother will run upstairs to her so Cas gets up and slips back into her bedroom, getting into bed and pretending she had been there the entire time, unaware of Dean’s visit. 

“Grace!” Mrs. Novak yells. Cas can hear Isabel sobbing. That would explain why she wasn’t already in their room, detailing everything she’d just heard. The bedroom door opens and her mother stands there looking about ready to burst into joyful tears. 

“What is it, mother?” Cas asks, sitting up and feigning ignorance. She is getting much better at this lying thing. She owes it all to her scandalous affair with Dean. 

“Mr. Winchester just visited!” she squeals excitedly. “He is going to propose! Grace! He. Is. To. Propose!” Cas doesn’t try to hide her smile this time. She grins and feels herself blush. 

The next day, Cas is let out of her room and given permission to go to town. Ravenous, she’d devoured breakfast, some tea and sandwiches at eleven, and as much of the lunch that was served as she could get away with. Everyone else took it as her feeling better, but Cas has never been hungry in her existence. She’s never wanted to eat so badly. 

Her only reason for going to town is to chaperone Isabel. She would rather be anywhere than in public where the other angels could be. 

“Are you still put out?” Cas asks as they walk by the shops. 

“Yes, but not with you.” Isabel takes her sister’s arm affectionately for a moment. “I am heartbroken, but am happy for you. He loves you so. Every time father asked about your arrangements, he’d answer that everything he owned, every last bit of money that he had would go to you.” Cas sucks in a breath and smiles inwardly, the sun shining specifically for her. 

They walk into a shop and Isabel wanders from Cas’ side. Cas doesn’t care. She’s still floating from the prospect of Dean proposing. 

“Castiel,” Balthazar whispers harshly. Cas jumps and looks away. “That was you, wasn’t it? This Tuesday past. Tell me it wasn’t you,” he says urgently. She looks up into his panicked eyes but doesn’t answer. “Tell me it wasn’t you, Cassie. I am begging you.”

“It wasn’t me,” she says weakly. He knows. 

“It was you. You can’t deny this. I can feel the power radiating from you.” He glances around. They’re hidden from view and talking so quietly no one can hear them. If they did, he could easily use his powers to remedy the situation. “I told you not to. I told you to be careful. I explicitly told you not to. How did that interpret as succumbing on Tuesday?”

“It was more than Tuesday. I’ve lost count and I’m good with numbers. It was Tuesday past. And Monday, Sunday, Saturday, Friday, should I go on? It was long before you tried to intercede.”

“Spare me the details, darling. I hope it was worth it.” 

“He _loves_ me,” she says with such passion she surprises herself. “He loves me,” she says again. “I love him more than I would have thought possible for _any_ being. Our love? _That is worth_ _everything_.” 

“He is a human,” Balthazar tries. “He won’t live as you will. He will be long gone and where will you be? In one hundred years? Two hundred?” How little he knows. “Castiel, please think.”

“He’s to propose tomorrow,” Cas says. “I will let you know when we are to be married, but please stop this talk. You think I am not afraid? I am terrified, but as long as I have him, I know I will be loved and that is enough. Keep the others away, please. You offered your protection before, so protect us.” 

“I…” He sighs, defeated. “I will protect you, you absolute louts.”

“You have my gratitude.” She leaves, finding Isabel and pays for the new pair of shoes her little sister wants before they make their way back to the carriage. 

“Why are we leaving so soon?” Isabel asks as their carriage pulls away from the town. Cas looks out the window and sees Balthazar standing in the road, watching them go. 

“Tea time will be soon. I’m starved,” Cas says, sitting back in her seat. “And you have the shoes we set out to buy.” Isabel smiles and looks out the window happily. 

Today, Cas will be proposed to by Dean Winchester. Her hair is curled and pinned perfectly. Blue flowers and white pearls poke out of the dark coils. Her corset is tight despite her protests. Her dress is somewhere between casual and ballroom elegant. She’s sitting in the den with a book that she can’t focus on. No one can focus. 

“You look nervous, Grace,” her older brother says. He and his wife have been staying with them for the past month and she’s barely been around to see him. 

“Excited,” she corrects him. “Ready.” He smiles as Isabel makes a disappointed noise. 

“Hush, Isabel,” their mother says for the millionth time. 

The knock on the door is everyone’s cue to look busy reading the books they can’t read and sew the needlework project they can’t focus on so that Dean will walk into a room filled with people doing absolutely nothing but looking rather busy. It’s a strange charade, but Cas goes along with it because she will do nothing to ruin this. 

“Mr. Dean Winchester,” their footman announces. Every project is put down as everyone looks up. His eyes are already on her. 

“I wish to speak to Grace,” he says, his voice raw. 

“Of course,” Mrs. Novak says, ushering everyone out of the room. Cas isn’t sure Dean even heard her. He walks across the room to her when everyone is gone and she can see his heart in his eyes. 

“Cas…” He sinks to one knee in front of her and takes a deep breath. “I have wanted to marry you longer than you can possibly know right now. I have loved you even longer. I think you know that you own my heart and soul. God, I’m shaking.” 

“It’s okay,” she breathes, taking his hand to steady him. He presses a kiss to her hand and squeezes tight. 

“I am prepared to do anything for you. Give you everything. Leave hunting and my past behind to be your husband here. I love you. I love you and I want to spend every last moment I have with you. Take me. Let me be your husband. Marry me. Marry me, Cas.” 

“Of course, I will marry you, Dean Winchester. I love you in your entirety.” She brings his face to hers to kiss him. He’s still shaking as he kisses her. He fumbles in his jacket and pulls out a diamond ring. “What is this?” 

“An engagement ring?” He looks down at it and back up at her. 

“It’s not customary, but I’ll take it,” she says. He slips it onto her finger and pulls her back to him, kissing her again. 

“I’m going to marry you,” he says as if he still can’t believe it. “I’m going to be your husband.” 

“I will be your wife,” she whispers back, a giddy smile spreading. 

Balthazar stands in his bathroom so he can see the damage he’s about to do. He takes a deep breath and tells himself that this is for Castiel. This will keep her and the love of her life alive. Dean Winchester is proposing today and Castiel, his poor Cassie, is in love, with child, and prepared to say yes. 

Balthazar drops his angel blade into his hand and sighs. He hits himself in the jaw with the hilt of his blade, making his lip bleed before doing the same to his eye. He randomly slices through his jacket and shirt, wincing with each cut. He pulls at the clothes, ripping them and making himself look worse for wear before checking his reflection. It’ll have to do. 

He doesn’t bother using the mundane way of travel that Castiel seems to have adapted to. He uses his wings like the bloody angel he is and staggers up Naomi’s front walk to her door, pounding on it. 

“Balthazar!” Ishim opens the door and steps aside so Balthazar can enter. “What happened?” 

“Castiel and I were attacked by demons. They want a nephilim to be born so they can have it. We tried fighting but there were too many of them. They killed Castiel.” He doesn’t know what he would do if Castiel was actually killed. They are best friends. Even Cassie being in the danger she’s in now makes him sick. 

“What?” Naomi demands. “Where did the demons go? We must stop them. They can’t get to the nephilim first. Of course they felt the conception. We all did.” 

“I heard them mention France, but that can’t be right,” Balthazar says knowing full well that Naomi will travel to France immediately. 

“Retrieve Anna and Benjamin. We need to leave now,” Naomi orders. Balthazar nods. They’ll be gone for months. Castiel and Dean Winchester will be safe until his luck runs out. Then he’ll have to improvise again. 

Before his departure, Balthazar leaves a note with the butler of the Winchester Manor. 

_ Mr. Winchester, _

_ I congratulate you on your engagement and marriage to my dear friend, Grace Novak. Do pass my sympathies to her that I will be unable to attend the nuptials as I am keeping my promise.  _

_ -B _


	10. Chapter 10

Mr. Butler had been the one to help Dean get ready. He’d made sure Dean looked immaculate for his wedding and sent him off to the church with his congratulations. Dean had, of course, tried to get Jeeves to come with him, but that would be improper and besides, he had to prepare the house for the newlyweds arrival. 

Now, Dean stands at the front of the church, his stomach in knots, as he waits for his bride. He never thought he would be here. Sure, he’d wanted it. He’d thought about marrying Cas for years. In the early mornings when he would watch Cas get dressed in the dark to sneak out of Dean’s room. When Cas would kiss him or even just lock eyes with him. When he heard Cas play Nothing Else Matters on the piano in front of her entire family. Every time they made love. Dean takes a steadying breath. He’s finally here. He’s going to marry his angel. 

When he sees her, Dean’s heart leaps. She is beautiful. The white dress with blue ribbon barely registers because it’s all in her eyes. Those shining blue eyes that captivate him, shining with the skies and the oceans. She is radiant, glowing with joy as she walks toward him. He can’t breathe because that look on her face with the smile and eyes only for him. 

“ _ I love you, Cas _ ,” he thinks and watches her blush. 

“ _ I love you, Dean _ ,” she mouths.

Her father gives her away and the service begins, but Dean barely hears the words. All he can focus on is how close Cas is standing to him and that this, being with her, is the rest of his life.

“ _ I pray so you can hear me when I tell you that I have never been more sure of any decision in my life. I am ready to give you my heart, my everything. You already have it. I promise that my love for you only grows with each day. I promise you my respect and protection. My best friend, my partner in everything, my equal. Neither of us were allowed to love and both of us have. I am ready and more than willing to spend the rest of my life with you, Cas. You make me the happiest I have ever been,” _ he vows silently, their eyes locked. “ _ I will love you forever.”  _

They say their I do’s and when it’s time, he slips the wedding band onto her left ring finger next to the uncustomary engagement ring. She places a silver band on Dean’s finger in return and the priest announces that Dean can now kiss the bride. 

She reaches up to cup his jaw as he pulls her to him and kisses her with all the love that is appropriate for a church in front of her family. Their lips slide together, fitting perfectly. He can finally hold her. Hold her hand. Kiss her. Love her openly. Their lips part and he grins. 

Dean signs his name and watches Cas quickly change her C to a G and write her vessel’s name before passing the quill to her brother. He signs James W. Novak and suddenly it clicks. Dean looks up at the man signing. He’s Cas’ future vessel’s great great something grandfather. James Novak is witnessing the wedding of Dean Winchester to Castiel. His wife signs next and Dean and Cas are allowed to leave the church as Mr. and Mrs. Dean Winchester. 

They walk out of the church arm in arm, her hand clasped tightly in his as flower petals rain down on them from the people that he’s seen a few times at balls and she’s probably seen countless times. It’s more magical than the rice that couples are pelted with in movies. Dean looks down at Cas and she’s grinning. 

“Mrs. Winchester,” he says as they walk, leading what feels like a parade behind them back to the Novak house. 

“Mr. Winchester,” she answers, looking up at him like he’s the only thing in the world. “I heard your prayer.”

“What’d you think? Too sappy? Not enough?” 

“It was perfect. I do have a proposal,” she says softly so no one can hear them even though they’ve left quite enough space for privacy. He raises an eyebrow and waits for her to continue. “Angels don’t get married, but there is a binding ritual of sorts. It would mark your soul, your hand for perhaps a week, and bind my celestial form to your core being.”

“Giving us a profound bond?” Dean asks, remembering the phrasing Cas had used what feels like a million years ago. 

She looks up at him and tilts her head. “Exactly that. We already have one, this would just make it stronger.” 

“I would love to.” He lifts her hand to his mouth and presses a kiss to her knuckles because he can. He can do that now. She’s his wife. “When?” 

“After the traditional wedding breakfast. We will be able to return to our home and we will have privacy.” She looks straight ahead as she adds, “And I will be able to tear your fitted clothing from your body as I’ve wanted to do from the moment I saw you in the church.” 

“Cas!” Dean looks down at her, shocked and aroused. He laughs because clearly there’s no other way to respond. “Are you sure we’re even going to make it through breakfast?” he jokes.

“No,” she responds seriously. “Not at all.” 

They make it back to the Novak house where the celebration begins. Suddenly, the distant chatter that had been behind them as they’d walked was surrounding them. Congratulations and toasts dulled Isabel’s pouting and longing looks. A breakfast spread of bread, cold cuts of meat, cheeses, fruits, and pastries litter the dining table. 

Cas picks up a pastry and takes a seat with Dean. He raises an eyebrow when she eats the entire thing and grabs more food. “I am starved,” she says in answer to Dean’s unasked question which makes less sense than what he had thought was happening. He’d seen her eat in front of her family for show and she’d had small bites of meals when she was dining with him before, but the only other time he’d seen Cas eat and say they were ravenous was when Famine was involved. 

“Are you okay?” he asks in a whisper. 

“We’ll talk later,” she promises, not meeting his eye. 

“That’s not a yes, Cas.” 

“Because it isn’t a yes, but I will tell you later,” she promises. “Enjoy your lunch and hope we manage to leave before I have to drag you upstairs and have you for dessert.” 

“You can’t use sex to distract me,” he whispers even though he’s not entirely sure it’s the truth anymore. He’s concerned, but he’s also becoming increasingly distracted. No. She’s eating. Something’s going on. Focus. 

“I can and am for the time being,” she says with a cute smile. “And don’t try to tell me it isn’t working. I might remind you that I am sitting next to you and can see your trousers.” 

“Shut up,” he hisses, moving his arm to cover himself. “Something’s wrong. And it’s worse that you’re not telling me.” 

“I told you I will tell you  _ later _ , husband.” She eats a grape and glances at him. “I am worried too. I do mean it when I tell you to try to enjoy yourself. This can wait.” She takes his hand and squeezes. 

“Do you feel different now that you’re married?” Isabel asks, breaking Dean and Cas out of their private bubble. The poor girl looks heartbroken but is trying to mask it as she picks up bread and fruit. 

“I do and I do not,” Cas says, glancing at Dean with a soft look. “Nothing has really changed, but everything has.” 

“Brother?” Isabel asks though it looks like the word is acid in her mouth. Dean tries not to laugh. It’s kind of adorable. She’s got a crush. She’ll get over it. 

“No,” Dean answers gently. “This is how things were meant to be.” 

When breakfast is over, Dean and Cas are walked outside where his carriage is waiting with a trunk of her new clothes. Cas says goodbye to her father, mother, brother, sister-in-law, and little sister with hugs, saying their names as she goes. Her mother is crying happily while Isabel looks near tears herself. 

“Goodbye Father,” Dean says, shaking Mr. Novak’s hand and following Mr. Butler’s instructions on how to depart. He’s wished well and moves on to Mrs. Novak. “Goodbye, Mother.” He hugs her and kisses her cheek. “Brother,” he says, shaking James’ hand. “Sister,” he says with a hug and a cheek kiss for James’ wife. Last is Isabel. “Goodbye, Sister,” he says with a small smile, hugging her. She wraps her arms around him and immediately goes limp when he kisses her cheek. He steps away to find her face has become bright red. If she’d been animated in a cartoon, her smile would be a squiggly line and her eyes turned into big red hearts. 

Dean helps Cas up into the carriage and follows her in. The curtains are drawn so they can wave goodbye as they pull away. Cas sits close to him, his arm around her to pull her even closer. They’re quiet for a minute as they cuddle.

“Explain what the hell is going on now, please,” he says, his cheek resting against the top of her head. “Food? You’re hungry and eating food? Since when do you get hungry, Cas? What the hell is going on?”

“I…” She takes a deep breath and nuzzles into his shoulder. “Do you know what a nephilim is?”

“Nope.” 

“A nephilim is the offspring of an angel and a human,” she says softly. Dean feels his heart stop but he doesn’t move. “They’re immensely powerful beings, having greater celestial energy than their angel parent.”

“Cas..?” His mouth is dry and his voice cracks. 

“It was prophesized that there would be a nephilim child conceived and I was sent here with a few others to stop it. The prophesized nephilim is to be the most powerful being yet. Maybe more powerful than God because it is born of two parents who have a bond stronger than most. It might even be called love.” 

“Cas, what are you saying?” His heart is now pounding so hard he can actually feel it. 

“I am saying that you are going to be the father of the most powerful being on Earth as I am currently expecting.” She looks up at him but he’s sure that all of the blood has left his body. “Dean?” 

_ “Dean?” _ He gasps as he opens his eyes. Cas looks worried as she runs a hand down the side of his face. “Dean.”

“I’m fine,” he says though he doesn’t feel it. He still feels light-headed and he’s pretty sure he just fainted. How with the times he is. 

“Are you prone to fainting spells?” she asks as he sits up slowly. He shakes his head numbly as he goes over what the fuck just happened. Cas is pregnant? Cas is pregnant with his child. She’s going to have his child. He’s going to be a dad. Of the most powerful being on Earth? They don’t have a child in the future. He either just fucked up history in a big way or something catastrophic is about to happen. “You’re breathing strangely again,” she says.

“I can’t fucking breathe,” he says, looking for the window. “You’re pregnant? When? What? Nephilim?”

“That’s an indelicate way of putting it. Tuesday past at the lake. Yes, a nephilim.” 

Dean pulls her to him and kisses her, excitement winning over the nervous panic. He laughs against her lips and presses a hand to her middle. “We’re having a baby,” he says in between kisses. 

“We’re having a baby,” she answers. Even she’s smiling now. He kisses her harder, pulling her onto his lap and feeling her legs fall to either side of him. 

“Why were you so nervous?” He asks, choosing to ignore that he’d just fainted at the news. 

“Naomi will be hunting us and our baby.” Naomi. That name is burned into Dean’s brain from the last time she fucked with his angel. She’d tortured Cas into almost killing Dean. In the future, Cas still can’t bring himself to talk about it. “It’s dangerous, but this is our baby.”

“I will protect you always,” Dean promises with a kiss. “I will protect our little one.”

“I will protect you always,” Cas breathes as Dean’s kisses dip to her neck. “I will always protect our family.” She pulls the curtains on the windows closed as Dean caresses her thigh. “We don’t have long,” she warns as she pulls the front of his trousers away and wraps her hand around his dick. 

Dean keeps necking her as she lowers herself onto him and sighs. She wasn’t exaggerating about being horny. She’s wet and already whimpering as she moves. Dean grabs a handful of her ass and groans as she rides him. 

Cas moans out Enochian before pulling Dean’s face back to hers and biting into his lower lip, sucking and dipping her tongue into his mouth. One of her hands slams into the wall behind him, steadying herself as she slides on his dick like a dancing pole. Her other hand is on his shoulder where Cas had once burned his handprint into him. 

“Mark me,” Dean moans into her mouth. 

“What?” she pants, not breaking stride as she grinds her hips into his. 

“Burn your handprint into my shoulder,” he begs. If she was going to answer, she can’t because their mouths are crashing together again. She pushes his jacket away from his shoulder and grips his shoulder through his shirt before he feels the white-hot energy burning him under her hand. 

Dean grips his hips tight as he comes, moaning into her mouth that she refuses to release. She licks his lip before sliding her tongue back into his mouth. The carriage has stopped but neither Dean or Cas move. 

“I think we’re home, Mrs. Winchester,” Dean says against her lips. He’s still buried deep inside of her and would be content to stay like this forever. 

“I believe you’re right, Mr. Winchester.” She kisses him again for good measure before climbing off and righting her skirts while he buttons his trousers. 

The door opens after a moment, making it perfectly clear that the chauffeur was waiting for them to be decent again. Dean clears his throat before stepping out and offering his hand to Cas. She takes it and steps down elegantly as if she was not just riding him harder than an electric bull in the back of their carriage. 

“Welcome home Mr. and Mrs. Winchester,” Mr. Butler says as they walk in. “May I offer my congratulations?” 

“Thanks, Jeeves,” Dean says, beaming as they walk into their home. 

“We’ve prepared rooms for Mrs. Winchester. Her things are being brought up now.” 

“What?” Dean looks from Cas to Mr. Butler. “We… We have a bedroom.” Dean doesn’t wait for an explanation, too excited to hear anything and actually comprehend the words. His fingers laced with Cas’, they run up the stairs straight to their bedroom. 

They fall onto the bed with laughter at nothing in particular. There’s just no other way to let the joy out as it bubbles up. They’re married. They belong to each other. They’re having a baby. They’re here. Together. Cas snuggles close to Dean and he wraps his arms around her, resting his chin on top of her head. Her hands are on his chest in between them. 

“What’re you thinkin’ about?” Dean asks quietly as he holds his wife. 

“Is intercourse with me the same in the future?” she asks softly. 

“Not even a little,” he laughs. She looks up at him, worried. 

“Which is preferable?” she asks, her eyebrows drawn together. He kisses the tip of her nose. 

“They’re not really comparable. I love all the ways we have sex. And please stop saying intercourse.” She relaxes against him again and he closes his eyes, focusing on her even breaths. 

“What makes them different yet not comparable?” she asks after a moment. 

“Okay, I’ll tell you one bit about the future,” he sighs. She’s always curious and always finds new ways to try to see into the future by looking into his past. “It’s different because in the future, your vessel is a guy… And I’m a bottom.” 

“A bottom?” she asks, pulling away a little to look at him again. 

“Instead of me in you, you in me,” he says. She nods like this answer is acceptable and returns to his chest again. 

“What are you thinking about?” she asks, clearly satisfied with his answers and her glimpse into the future. 

“Angel weddings. Your wings. Our baby. Your eyes. Your true form. That you’re my wife. Take your pick.” He presses a kiss into her hair again and waits as she thinks about his list. 

“Have you seen my true form?” 

“Only once.” He’d seen Cas’ true form when he’d been a demon and Cas had come to cure him before he killed Sam. It had been one of his lowest moments, but he clings to the memory because it’s the only time. “It wasn’t a good day, but when I say you’re beautiful, I mean  _ you _ , Cas. All of you.” 

“Are you ready for the Enochian vows?” Cas asks, kissing his chest. He nods. 

She extricates herself from his arms and stands at the end of the bed. He follows her and lets her take his hands. When they’re positioned to her satisfaction, she looks up at him. He watches her blue eyes, swimming with galaxies and worlds unknown, turn bright with angelic grace. A rope of blue grace loops around their clasped hands.

“Repeat my words,” she says softly. He nods even though he’s not completely sure she can still see him with the light shining from her eyes. Dean doesn’t understand any of the next words. He recognizes only one phrase:  _ ol hoath _ . Dean watches as Enochian marks his skin like ink each time he repeats her vows. When she’s finished, the rope dissipates. The Enochian fades to light scars on his hands. Her eyes return to normal. 

“What does ‘ol hoath’ mean?” he whispers as she steps into his arms. 

“My love.” Her arms circle his shoulders as his hands rest on her hips. 

“Show me your wings, ol hoath.” The wall behind her grows suddenly dark, shadows of massive wings span across it.  _ This is your problem, Dean. You have no faith.  _ He has faith. In one angel. The only angel who matters to him. “Angelum meum, cor meum, uxor mea… te amo,” he murmurs in Latin.  _ My angel, my heart, my wife… I love you.  _


	11. Chapter 11

Cas grips the wheel too tight. Sam is on his phone in the front seat typing as quickly as he can to find any clue as to where Dean could be. None of his phones are responding to the locating technology Sam is using. Between his erratic searches, he calls frantically. The only bit of Dean that’s left is his voice answering for the voicemail box. 

“We’ll find him,” Sam says after another failed call. “He can’t just be gone.” 

Cas suddenly understands Dean’s addiction to speeding when he’s driving. He doesn’t feel like he’s going fast enough even when he’s reached the highest speed that the Impala can handle. If he could somehow make the car drive fast enough to catch up to his heart rate and racing thoughts then maybe he could fix everything.

  
  


“Okay, tell me again,” Sam says, pinching the bridge of his nose. They’ve been in the Bunker’s library for hours. The books are piling up around Sam’s laptop but nothing is helping them figure out what happened to Dean a week ago. 

“I don’t know,” Cas says, sighing under the weight of his loss. Their loss. “Dean was almost killed so I pushed him out of the way.” He remembers the fear slicing through him as he saw the blade flash near Dean. Dean had stumbled away from him with a silent battlefield thanks. “I know we had all decided that I wouldn’t use my grace as it’s in short supply, but I used it to send Dean out of the room.” Out of the fight. Away from probable death. 

“Then?” Sam asks, opening his eyes and looking up at Cas with a pained look. 

“Naomi hit him with something at the same time. I saw a second ball of celestial energy hit him at the same time.” He’d called out Dean’s name but Dean was gone. 

“Why did you do that anyway?” Sam asks. “Are we sure your mojo wasn’t out of whack and did something else?” 

“My  _ mojo _ was not  _ out of whack _ ,” Cas says, rejecting the idea that he is the reason Dean is now missing. He also can’t answer why he sent Dean out. Sam doesn’t know that he and Dean have been carrying out a secret relationship. 

Sam runs a hand over his face. He hasn’t shaved since Dean went missing. He’s not taking things well. “Dammit, Dean,” he mutters as he picks up a file. 

“What is it?”

“He accidentally put his notes in with the actual file,” Sam says, shaking his head. “Not that this file is useful. It’s just a bunch of failed spells to undo an angel’s spell. At least that’s what Dean’s notes say.” He hands them to Cas when Cas reaches for them instinctively. 

He remembers these notes. Dean had showed up in the middle of a dance over two hundred years ago trying to get back to his own time period. They had spent days together in a Men of Letters library at the Winchester Estate making these notes together. Practicing potions and spells so Dean could get home. They were all failures. The best failures of Cas’ life. 

“These aren’t his notes,” Cas lies, forcing his voice to remain even. “Similar handwriting, but these are original documents. Still not useful for our purposes.” Cas runs his fingers over Dean’s handwriting. It was a long time ago. Something Dean doesn’t remember, but Cas recalls fondly. His heart hurts. 

  
  


Cas is spiraling. He can’t deal with this. Time drags on and the longer that stretches with Dean gone, the more Cas feels untethered. He stumbles into the bunker after drinking enough to kill an average man. 

“Cas?” Sam is awake. Of course he’s awake. “Are you drunk?”

“This again?” Cas slurs as he makes it down the stairs but barely. “Really?”

“Maybe you should sit down, Cas,” Sam says, grabbing a chair. 

“Maybe you should mind your own business,” Cas says as he falls into the chair. He huffs. He hadn’t meant to actually sit. He needs Dean. He needs to be able to talk about Dean. Right now, he’s biting his tongue and remaining Dean’s  _ buddy _ . His  _ best friend _ . Sam doesn’t know. He doesn’t know the pain of losing a husband. “I need to talk to Balthazar,” Cas accidentally says out loud. 

“Cas… Balthazar…”

“Is dead. I’m aware. I’m not  _ that _ inebriated, Sam.” The word inebriated comes out wrong, but Sam should know what he’s trying to say. “He’s the only one that knows. Knew. Whatever.” Cas pushes himself up and walks away from the War Room, the world tilting. He crashes into the doorway and rights himself again. 

“Cas?”  
  
“Just leave me alone,” Cas whispers without turning around. He makes his way down the maze of a hallway and makes it to Dean’s room. He sits on the edge of the bed and picks up Dean’s walkman from the floor under Dean’s side of the bed. He pops in the mixtape Dean had made him and falls back against the pillows, tears sliding down his face.

  
  


“So get this,” Sam says as he walks into the room. His beard still hasn’t been shaved but he’s started looking for things to hunt. He’s moving on. Giving up. It’s been a month and he’s giving up. 

“No,” Cas says, cutting him off. Sam sits down at the War Table with him and puts his laptop down. He sighs, running a hand through his hair. He’s still not sleeping enough. He stays up for most of the night and wakes up at dawn to go running. Neither of them have touched the Impala since that first night after they got back to the Bunker. 

“Cas… We have to face that Dean might not be coming back.” Cas feels like each word is a knife through his heart, though he had been stabbed in the heart before and that hurt considerably less. He’ll take the knives, thanks. 

“I can’t and I won’t,” Cas says, standing. He doesn’t know where he can go though. He’d made a promise to Dean. He’d made a lot of promises to Dean. Over the past weeks, he’s watched Sam grieve as the brother Winchester unaware of Cas’ full amount of grief. How could he? There is not enough air in this Bunker. There’s not enough room.

“Cas, come on. Just hear me out.” 

“He is the love of my life!” Cas finally shouts. Sam flinches before questions form in his eyes. Cas bites down hard on nothing, his jaw clenching hard as he forces himself to breathe. 

“Wait…” Sam says slowly. “You two? You were together?”

“If I am here, so shall he be,” Cas says at a considerably lower volume. “He can’t be gone because if he were then my heart would cease to exist. Do you understand me?” 

“When?” 

“Longer than you will ever know,” Cas sighs, suddenly exhausted. “So forgive me if I’m unwilling to move on from trying to find him. I will not be hunting anything but a spell to bring him back to me.” 

“Are we going to talk about this?” Sam asks, getting up and following Cas out of the room and into the hallway. “Cas?”

“I can’t.”

  
  


The Bunker should be quiet, but Cas can hear distant laughter from Sam. He may be sober during the day, but Sam’s giggles are drunk. Cas hasn’t had a drink since the night he’d had enough to actually pass out in Dean’s room. He hadn’t known it was possible for an angel to pass out drunk before that moment. 

Cas follows the sounds to Sam’s room. His door is ajar and Cas can see him watching a show that he recognizes from Dean’s recommendations. Cas doubts he will ever make it through the long list. Sam laughs again and raises his scotch glass. 

“To Jeeves,” he says before draining the glass. 

Cas freezes. He hasn’t heard that name in a very long time. He wants to push the door open and watch the show with Sam, but he can’t move. The butler in the show’s name is Jeeves. Long ago, Dean had had a butler. He’d let himself be called Jeeves, taking the name as the term of endearment that it was. Cas makes a noise in the back of his throat. 

“Cas?” Sam asks, turning toward the door. 

“I’m sorry,” Cas says, turning away.

“No. Come in.” Cas pushes the door open and sits carefully on the edge of the bed. Sam takes a sip from his newly refilled scotch glass. “Dean loved this show. He was excited when House came out. I think it had to do with it being part Dr. Sexy and part Jeeves and Wooster.” 

“That sounds like Dean,” Cas says. They watch the comedy together quietly. Sam falls asleep at some point and Cas cleans up the liquor and drapes a blanket over him before continuing to watch the show, soaking up the comfort from the screen and being near Sam without fights or unsaid problems. 

  
  


“Lucifer is back. We have to deal with that, Cas!” Sam tries. Cas isn’t listening. He doesn’t care if Lucifer is back. Let him be back. The world has taken too much from him. 

“You’ve given up on finding your brother?” Cas asks bitterly. Sam glares at him and Cas glares right back. “Did you find a girl? Maybe you hit a dog? Did you even try when we were in Purgatory? How long did it take you to give up then? A day? A week?” 

“It’s been two months, Cas. You’re the one who’s given up. I’m living. You think I don’t care about my brother? You really think that I don’t care that Dean’s gone?” He’s obviously furious, but Cas is too and he isn’t going to back down from what he said. It might be harsh, but they both know that there’s truth in it. “He’s been there for me for my entire life, Cas! He sold his soul for me! Just because you’ve kissed him or whatever doesn’t make you miss him more than me!”

The lights flicker as Cas’ rage rolls through him. “Don’t bring my intimate relations with Dean into this,” he says coldly. “You’re the one giving up on him like he never would for you. He would still be sick with worry searching for you if your positions were reversed and this is how you repay him? You sit in this bunker and call yourself a Winchester, a Legacy. Why don’t you act like one and stop looking for local haunts and more trouble elsewhere when he’s still missing and help me find him?”

Sam sets his jaw and storms out of the room leaving Cas alone to seethe. 

  
  


There are muttered apologies between Sam and Cas in the doorway of the kitchen the next morning as Sam pours himself coffee. Neither of them know what to do about the fighting. They aren’t handling their grief the same way and it’s creating enough tension to cause earthquakes. 

“We good?” Sam asks.

“We are,” Cas nods. He’s not sure he means it entirely even though he cares for Sam greatly. 

  
  


A shockwave of power surges and angel radio lights up, screaming into Cas’ head with panic. He grips his head and closes his eyes tight. It’s so loud. When Heaven is scared, they turn up the volume. Cas’ heart aches. Flashbacks of torture make his muscles tense. 

“Cas? What’s wrong?” Sam asks, dropping the book he’d been holding on the table as he runs to Cas. 

“Something’s happened,” Cas says through gritted teeth. “Angel radio… There are so many voices.” He tries to make out what everyone is saying, screaming at once. 

“What’re they saying?” 

“There’s been a massive surge in celestial energy,” Cas says even though he can’t hear them yet. He knows it. He felt it too. “A nephilim has come into being.”

“A nephilim?” 

“It’s the offspring of an angel and a human.” He remembers telling Dean that so many years ago. He could double over from the anguish that thought brings him, but he stands up straighter instead. He can do this. 

The voices of angels calm down enough to communicate that this nephilim belongs to an archangel, the power greater than any typical angel. Nobody mentions the only love child ever born to an angel, her power unsurmountable. Nobody mentions Castiel. 

“It’s much, much greater than a typical angel,” Cas says. 

“Lucifer.” Sam’s face changes to mild horror. His scars will never fully heal. Not as long as Lucifer keeps returning to reopen the old wounds and make new ones while he’s at it. “What are we going to do?”

“Nothing.” Cas walks away without explanation. There is no explaining the bitter hatred he feels at his core, the acid in his mouth, or the ice in his veins. His heart aches but he forces himself not to cry. 

  
  


Cas doesn’t know why the past he’d had with Dean was suddenly affecting him this badly. He’d been able to choke it down for years. Centuries, even. But with Dean gone, missing and untraceable, suddenly he can’t anymore. It hurts like millions of angel blades stabbing into him at once. An angel pincushion of hurt. 

Cas finds himself in the archives of the Bunker, tearing it apart as he suddenly needs those notes that Sam had found weeks ago. Those notes that had Dean and Cas’ scribbles of failed spells. Scribbled memories from first dates that definitely were not dates. Not one bit. Not as he had watched Dean work, unable to look away. Not as he fell in love with the routine of going to Dean’s manor and studying with him for hours. They definitely weren’t dates when he’d caught Dean staring right back at him and not bothering to look away. Of course not. 

“What the hell?” Sam asks as he walks in. Cas looks around him. Almost every book is on the floor. Lids to files are thrown. Discarded papers litter the room. And he sits at the center of it. “What the hell, Cas?”

“I’m trying to find how to retrieve someone’s soul,” Cas says dismissively. He steps over the mess and walks past Sam. “Where were you?”

“What? Why were you looking for that?” Sam asks, following Cas through the bunker.  
  
“You reek of a werewolf hunt,” Cas snaps. “Have you lost your soul or is it a conscious decision to give up looking for your brother?” 

“Not this again,” Sam sighs. “Cas, he’s gone. We have to come to terms with that. The sooner the better.” Cas turns around and glares. Sam may be taller in his human form, but he’s very small next to Cas’ true form. Right now, Sam looks small to Cas. “I know you love him… or whatever… but he’s gone. It’s tearing you apart, Cas. Let it go. Let him go.” 

The lights flicker as Cas’ heart pounds faster. “You know  _ nothing _ of how we feel for each other,” Cas says through clenched teeth. “You may be able to let him go, but  _ I never will _ .” He can feel himself shaking. The lights go out as glass shatters. The emergency backups glow red and Sam takes a step back. 

“Cas…” 

Cas knows his eyes are showing nothing but grace even as he begins to weep. He falls to his knees and grabs his head as he screams in his true voice. Everything breaks. Everything. Glass falls in slow motion, clattering to the floor and hitting the walls. Doors burst open, slamming too hard. Books fly off their shelves. The backup lights explode, leaving Sam in the dark with an emotionally unstable, broken angel. 

  
  


Dean plays a few notes on his piano. He’s trying to sound out Whole Lotta Love by Led Zeppelin so he can serenade Cas with more of his favorite songs. He stops, resting his hands on the keys and turns around to look at her. She’s sitting and reading a book in a beam of sunlight that streams in through the window. 

“Cas?” She looks up from her book and tilts her head in that adorable way. “Do you think Sam and… well… you… are okay?” 

“You told me that I’m there with him. We’re both probably shattered, but I will take care of him.” She looks back down at her book. “Perhaps I even know that you’re safe here with me.”

“You’re right,” Dean says, turning back to his piano and starting to play again. 


	12. Chapter 12

Dean is sitting on the couch with his ledger from the study. He’d stopped counting the days he was trapped and had started counting the days he’d spent with Cas. The section that had been for keeping track of the number of attempts made at returning home was burned by a candle one night when his heart was pulling in two directions. 

“Mrs. Winchester?” Dean hears from upstairs. “What are you doing?”

“Mr. Winchester,” Mr. Butler says. Dean looks up, eyebrows raised. “Mrs. Winchester is moving her wardrobe.” Dean nods. He and Cas had found it ridiculous that all of her clothes were in a different room with a different bed that they didn’t need. “Into your chambers,” he explains. 

“Where else?” Dean asks. He closes the ledger and leaves it on the side table. “I should go help her. I thought she was going to wait ‘til later.” He walks past Jeeves and up the stairs. “Need help?” he asks her when he finds her between their rooms with an armful of dresses.

“Thank you,” Cas says, piling the clothes into Dean’s arms. She gives him a quick kiss before going back into the other room to grab more. Corsets and petticoats, jackets and stockings. 

Dean walks into their room and dumps the dresses onto the bed before pulling open the empty wardrobe they’d dragged into the room in the middle of the night when Dean couldn’t sleep. It’s not like there wasn’t enough room for it. He starts putting the dresses away as he hums to himself. 

“Hey, Cas?” Dean asks once she has everything piled on the bed and starts helping him put things away. 

“Yes?” It’s impossible how beautiful she is just putting away her clothes. It’s the mundane moments with her that still feel so new and dazzling. He’s fought wars with Cas, but this domestic life is new and he’s sure he won’t ever get over it. 

“When are we allowed to tell the servants that we’re having a baby?” Dean asks. 

“I’m fairly certain we don’t have to announce anything to the servants, but you may. They are already whispering about my morning sickness. They seem fairly excited for us already.” She runs a hand over her stomach even though she’s not yet showing. “I will wait until a month has passed since the wedding before writing to inform the Novaks.” 

Dean grins. He’s wanted to announce this since he found out. It’s only been a week since the wedding, but it’s been hell keeping it locked up. Cas glances at him with a small smirk. “You can go now.”

“Thank you!” He kisses her and runs out into the hallway. “Jeeves!” 

“What ever is the matter, sir?” Mr. Butler asks, appearing rattled by Dean’s sudden outburst. 

“I’m going to be a dad!” He flings his arms around Jeeves and hugs him for the first time. 

“Er…” Jeeves pats his back twice awkwardly and Dean lets go. “Many congratulations to you and Mrs. Winchester,” he says. He looks like he might explode from the impropriety.

“We’re going to have a baby,” Dean says again, his smile so wide his cheeks hurt. This was never something he thought would happen to him. His life had been clearly outlined for him by his father. He was a soldier. He was disposable and not worth much more than he could carry. No one would fall in love with him. There was no point because he would never be able to settle down. It will always give him a surge of happiness when he allows himself to remember that he defied all of those odds. He left the life. He married the love of his life. They’re having a child together. They are starting a family. 

“This is exciting news,” Mr. Butler says with a hint of a smile. "Shall I put an announcement in the Times?"

“Wait…” Dean points at the room that they’d just finished emptying of Cas’ things. “Why were you confused about earlier?”

“Sir?”

“You were confused. You came to get me because Cas was moving her things to our room.” Dean raises an eyebrow as Mr. Butler turns pink. “What?”

“We weren’t aware that you two would… er…” He clears his throat awkwardly.

“Do people not sleep together in this century?” Dean asks. “Why would we go to the trouble of all that courting… stuff?” He waves his hand behind him. “And the falling in love and everything just to live separately in the same house? No. I am very much in love with her and we will be sharing a bedroom. Thanks very much.” 

“Yes, sir,” Mr. Butler says, bowing his head.  
  
"What was your question?" Dean backtracks.  
  
“Shall I put an announcement in the Times, sir?”

“Oh, god. No.” Dean shakes his head as he starts walking back to the room to finish setting up Cas’ wardrobe. “That’s not a good idea. Definitely not. Not yet anyway. Uh. Ask her. She’ll know. Anyway… Thanks, Jeeves.” 

“Sir.” 

Marital bliss is a strange bubble. They’re suddenly allowed to do a lot of the things that they weren’t before. They can call each other by their first names without raised eyebrows. He’s allowed to kiss her. They can make love in every room in the house at any time of day. Did he really just use the term  _ make love _ ? Doesn’t matter. It’s what it is. She makes his heart melt. Of course, he now uses phrases like  _ make love _ . They cuddle on the couch. They take long walks across the grounds. She reads to him and he plays music for her. They dance with or without music.

“I think I would like to invite Mother and Isabel for tea,” Cas says as they eat lunch together outside by the lake. 

“That’s at two,” Dean reminds her.

“Not today.” She takes a bite of the sandwich Dean had made. They’d gone into the kitchen to the cook’s dismay. Dean had insisted on making their lunch. The servants were dismissed for the afternoon while Dean and Cas had gone through and made their own picnic together, taste testing ingredients as they went. 

“You love them, don’t you?” he asks. She nods which makes him wonder what happened to Cas in the two hundred years. How did she go from loving her vessel’s family, calling them Mother and Father, obeying their wishes, kissing them goodbye, to the Cas that Dean had met who callously told a little girl that he wasn’t her father? 

“I would be lying if I said I didn’t want to see the look on Isabel’s face when we tell her we’re expecting,” she says after a moment. “She is very dear to me. She will be having her coming out soon, actually.”

“Her what?” Dean asks, his eyebrows knitted together. 

“She has to come out to society before she can begin courting,” Cas explains. “Same as Grace did before she fell ill. Though, I was never going to marry.” She plays with her rings and Dean smiles. 

“Yeah. Oops.” He hadn’t exactly planned on that either. His plans had wildly changed from trying to return to the future to living in the past. “When should we invite them?”

“Before I start showing and after an acceptable date for me to actually be with child,” she says. 

“Playin’ it by ear, then?” he asks. She tilts her head and her eyebrows draw together. “Goin’ with the flow? Waiting to see what happens?”

“Yes,” she finally says. She picks up his sandwich and takes a bite. She thinks she’s sneaky. That maybe he doesn’t notice. He does, but he doesn’t care. “Do you remember when you were in the lake?”

“Yeah,” he laughs. How could he forget? He isn’t likely to forget that day for as long as he lives. 

“You said you were having a Colin Firth moment. I don’t understand that reference.” Sometimes the things that she says reminds him too much of who she will become and it makes him feel happy and sad at the same time. “What does it mean?”

“Okay, so this is kind of a long story, but we have all day so here we go.” He flops down so his head is in her lap and he’s looking up at her beautiful face as he begins to tell her the story of Pride and Prejudice. Except, he doesn’t remember the exact lines so they’re all muddled with twentieth-century slang. Cas doesn’t mind. She runs her fingers through his hair as she listens to the story as it’s wildly mistold. 

“And then, and you won’t believe this bullshit, he has the balls to tell her how uninteresting and poor her family is. He tells her that she’s plain and gives her a fuckin’ laundry list of everything he hates about her and her family and tells her how  _ ardently he admires her _ . Like, what?” 

“No!” Cas gasps. 

“Yeah! Right?” Dean shakes his head and they both laugh before he continues telling her the story. He knows he’s forgetting parts, but she looks enthralled. He can’t tell if it’s the story or if she’s just happy to see him this animated as he goofs off, but she looks more than content. 

“So while Lizzie is up at his house creepin’ around,” Dean says, standing up and walking a little bit away, “Darcy just got home. And this is where he gets his sexy scene.” Dean pulls off his jacket but leaves his shirt on before walking into the lake. Cas smiles and shakes her head at him. Dean strikes a few poses in the water, his shirt clinging to him in a way he hopes is flattering before walking out again. “Lizzie ends up seeing him when he’s on his way back up to his own house and she’s like ‘damn, what a hottie.’ Darcy is like ‘what the fuck are you doing at my house also you are  _ so pretty _ .’ and Lizzie doesn’t know that she doesn’t hate him yet.” 

She listens to the entire rendition with quiet applause at Dean’s dramatization of a few scenes. “How does Colin Firth come into this?” Cas asks when he’s finished.

“Oh, he played Mr. Darcy in the tv version,” Dean says. She nods even though she still hasn’t grasped what a tv is. Pictures haven’t been invented yet. Pictures right now are painted. Something Cas excels at, even without Dean’s obvious bias. Moving pictures, animated or live action, are even further into the future. “Like the opera.” 

“I haven’t been. I was otherwise occupied before I met you.” 

“We’ll go,” Dean promises as he packs up the picnic blankets. He holds out his arm and she takes it before they start their walk back to the manor.

“Do you think we’re safe?” They haven’t brought it up, though he can tell it’s on both of their minds. 

“Balthazar told them I was dead. It should buy us some time,” she says quietly. “I hope.”

“Can you hear them on angel radio?” he asks. She squints at him. He guesses the radio hasn’t been invented yet either. “Can you hear the other angels?” 

“We don’t keep constant communication and Balthazar isn’t using it so as to keep me hidden.” She looks up at him, her mouth turned down in a small frown. “As long as they think I’m dead, we are safe.” 

“And if they find out you’re not?” He doesn’t want to know the answer. He wants to hold her close and keep them in this bubble of safety forever. 

“Not  _ if _ ,” she corrects him. “ _ When _ they find out I’m alive, it will probably be when our baby is born. When they find out, we will fight.” 

Dean and Cas wait in their drawing room, their hands laced together as they sit next to each other. Mrs. Novak and Isabel have been invited to come for tea and it’s almost time. Cas has a small bump that’s not noticeable, especially under her dresses. Dean had noticed the night before as he’d covered every inch of her body in kisses. It’s barely enough to be considered a bump, but his excitement had leaped. 

“What are we going to tell them?” Dean asks again because they have to be careful with dates and specifics. Cas runs a hand over her middle, flattening her dress. Her hair is done up with curls again for the first time in a few days. She’s been wearing it down because she’s figured out that Dean likes it best that way even though he hasn’t said a word. When she wears it down it’s wild and free. She looks presentable today, which is probably for the best with family visiting. 

“As little as possible.” She takes a deep breath and he kisses her hand gently. “I conveniently left out information that will make this more difficult. The gestation period for a nephilim is slightly shorter than that of a human.” 

“How much shorter? A month? We can fudge it,” he says with a shrug. They would just have to work the numbers a little. It would be fine. He starts counting the months in his head when she speaks again.

“More accurately: four months shorter,” she says with a guilty look. Five months total? She was going to have their baby in four months? They’ve only been married for one. 

“Uh… How are we gonna pull that off?” Dean looks over his shoulder to make sure no one is coming. “Why didn’t you tell me before?” 

“It has been quite some time since the last nephilim was born. They were wiped out in the great flood. Forgive me if I leave out information that I forget you do not know,” she says irritably. “Trust me. I am just as ill-prepared for this as you are. A nephilim has not been conceived in twenty-seven-hundred years.” 

“Okay. Alright. This is fine. We can do this,” Dean says but he can’t tell if he’s talking more to her or himself. “That means we’ll be parents by Christmas,” he says, his brain finally catching up and doing the math that he’d started before being reminded that she’s not carrying a human child. 

“They will be under the impression of a Spring confinement. Closer to April.” Cas says, scooting a little closer to him. He presses a kiss to her temple. Everything will be okay. 

“Mrs. Novak and Miss Novak have arrived,” Mr. Butler announces. 

“Hello, Mother,” Cas says as she stands up. Dean stands with her. “Isabel.” The two make their way to the other couch after brief hugs. 

“I hope you’re all in good health,” Dean says as he’d been told to. 

“We are, thank you. And you?” Mrs. Novak asks. 

“Excellent health, Mother,” Cas says. The small talk commences and Dean’s mind wanders to the forty years he’d spent in Hell. Torture could have been made dramatically more effective if small talk had been forced upon him in between his limbs being torn off and being literally ripped apart by hellhounds. “We did extend an invitation for a purpose,” Cas says after what feels like an eternity. Suddenly he’s back in his drawing room, his heart pounding in anticipation. The first time he’d heard this news, he’d fainted. He doubts that will happen to Isabel or Mrs. Novak. 

“Oh?” Mrs. Novak asks. Isabel’s blue eyes bounce between Cas and Dean suspiciously but she doesn’t say anything. Cas looks at Dean for a moment, her eyes filled with a countdown as she takes a deep breath. He nods.  _ Ready. _

“I am with child,” Cas says finally. Mrs. Novak lets out a squeal of delight as Isabel’s heart breaks in her eyes. “We expect confinement to be this coming Spring.” 

“Oh, but Mary is expecting this Spring!” Mrs. Novak protests. “Oh, I had been hoping to tell you that in a different way today.” She says when she sees Cas and Dean’s surprised expressions. Mary is Jame’s wife. They hadn’t known she was pregnant, but what a stroke of luck. 

“You mean we can’t be here?” Isabel asks her mother. “I want to be with Grace and Dean,” Isabel says. 

“We have to be there for James and Mary.” Mrs. Novak swells with pride again as she looks at Cas. “I can’t believe this! I just cannot believe this!” 

“I can’t either,” Isabel sighs, her eyes flickering between Dean and Cas again. “I’m so happy for you,” she says, her smile genuine as her eyes finally stick to Cas. “My sister.” She reaches out and holds Cas’ hand as she starts to cry a little. “Oh look at me,” she laughs, wiping them away. 

Mrs. Novak starts talking about preparations and announcements as Isabel makes faces so she can’t see. When Cas drops Isabel’s hand, she snuggles back against Dean comfortably. A maid brings tea in and serves the four of them. 

Dean can’t help but think about what it would be like if Sam was here. Growing up, he had always thought he would be the one to attend Sammy’s wedding. That he would be the one watching Sam’s family grow and thrive outside of the life. Now it’s flipped, but Sam isn’t here to celebrate with. He can only imagine the smile and maybe the hug with a single pat on the back. 

“Are you well, dear?” Cas asks. He clears his throat, and snaps himself out of his thoughts. She looks worried. 

“Aces,” he says. “Gimme a minute?” He’d been doing so well talking closer to how they talk until he started thinking about home. He kisses Cas’ hand and gives two nodded bows to their guests before leaving the room. 

It’s easy to fall into a new routine, a new life, when the love of his life is there to catch him. It’s easy to feel comfortable enough to step away from what his life used to be when he’s consumed by her. But he misses his brother. He misses driving on the open roads with him and annoying the fuck out of him while singing at the top of his lungs and driving too fast. He watched that kid grow up, go to college, find a girl, and lose it all. He held him when he died. He was there to bring him back again and again and now he’s gone. What he wants is simple. He just wants to be able to tell his brother that he’s happy. 

“Mr. Winchester?” 

“Hey, Jeeves,” Dean sighs. He’s sitting at the top of the stairs with his head in his hands. He couldn’t think of anywhere else to go even with an entire mansion. “What’s up?”

“What is it, sir?” Jeeves asks as he walks up the stairs slowly. 

“I wish I could tell my brother about all of this,” Dean says, waving his hand vaguely. “Getting hitched, having a baby. Coattails and top hats. All of it.” He sighs. “I don’t know what I’d give to be able to tell him I can play the piano now. Or that I don’t hunt anymore. I want to tell him about you and her and  _ everything _ .” 

“May I make a suggestion, sir?” Mr. Butler asks tentatively as Dean rakes his hands through his hair. Dean nods and looks up at Jeeves now that he’s made it to the top of the stairs. “Even if you cannot send it, you could write to him.” 

“I’m not much of a writer,” Dean laughs humorlessly. 

“If my memory serves, you weren’t much of a piano player either, sir.” Jeeves is gentle and kind and somehow accepting of all of the weird bullshit Dean says and does. “I do recall some dancing lessons as well.”

“Are you allowed to sit with me?” Dean asks. Jeeves always looks like a bird whose feathers are ruffled when Dean suggests things like this. He can tell that he’s about so say no. “Forget it,” Dean sighs, dropping his head again as he looks back at his shoes.

“I suppose five minutes won’t hurt,” Jeeves says. He carefully takes a seat on a lower step than Dean. 

“Thanks, Jeeves,” Dean whispers. 

“Of course, sir.” 

Dean takes a deep breath and wipes his hands down his face before looking back up. He feels a little ridiculous for needing to take a breather from freaking tea time. He shakes his head at himself and sighs. He can hear Cas talking to her vessel’s family but he can’t make out the words. He focuses on the sound of her voice, letting it seep into his bones. “I really love her, Jeeves,” Dean says after a moment. It’s something he should have told Sam years ago. Something he wishes he could tell Sam now. “You should have seen the mess I was when we first met.” 

In his mind, the doors of an abandoned barn burst open as lights shatter and the sparks rain down. His heart had hammered in his chest, fight or flight warring as he came face to face with a being strong enough to pull him from the depths of Hell. Training kept him from shaking as he pulled the trigger, but blue eyes remained on him, unwavering, gorgeous. Dark hair, untamed and meant for Dean’s fingers to run through. A blue tie, backwards and asking to be pulled. Gunshots fired into his chest, but he kept walking. A knife in his heart did nothing. But Dean came undone under his gaze. He was weak to that voice and he’d only known him for five minutes. 

A barn and a ballroom. Candlelight and raining sparks. Impossibly blue eyes, dark hair, the shadow of wings, the name Castiel. His heart beats out their name. Blue ribbons and backwards ties paired with tan coats and too many layers to peel away. A soldier of Heaven, a runaway angel. They own his heart. 

“I should go back,” he says softly, looking toward the drawing room. “Shouldn’t I?”

“A wise decision, sir,” Mr. Butler says, standing. 

“Thanks for being my friend, Jeeves,” Dean says. He’s not used to friendship in any form. The closest friend he ever had was Cas and he’d been in love with him from the start. Everyone else was dead or kept so far at a distance they’d never seen Dean break down like this. Jeeves looks touched and flustered, unable to answer. 

Dean gets up and rakes his fingers through his hair to fix what mess he had probably made. He walks past his stunned butler and goes back to the drawing room to resume tea with his family minus Sam. Cas looks up at him when he enters the room and everything is right again. 

“Sorry,” he says as he sits next to her again. She fits against his side perfectly and all he wants to do is bury his face in her neck and kiss her. “Where were we?” 

“Isabel is coming out next week,” Cas tells him. He’s glad they had this conversation before they arrived or he might have looked surprised. 

“Congratulations,” he offers, not knowing how else to respond. Cas smiles a little and takes his hand. Though he still wishes he could have Sam here, sitting in the armchair with his eyebrows upturned at Mrs. Novak’s thrilling announcements, he feels better. He may write to Sam tonight just to burn it before anyone else can read it, hoping the flame sends his words to the future. 

When Mrs. Novak and Isabel leave, probably to go and inform the entire town of Dean and Cas’ impending arrival, they stand on the front steps of the manor and watch their carriage go. 

“What happened earlier?” Cas asks when the carriage is out of sight and Dean pulls her against him. “Are you alright?” 

“I’m fine,” he says. It’s actually, kind of, mostly the truth. 


	13. Chapter 13

Dean wakes up slowly. Sunlight pours in through the open window. Cas is pressing gentle kisses into his skin. He’s curled against her, his hand resting on her hip. He blinks a few times and brings her face into focus. 

“Mornin’, Sunshine,” he says, his voice still thick with sleep. She smiles and runs her hand down the side of his face.

“Good morning, darling.” Cas kisses him and he pulls her closer, deepening the kiss that was probably meant to be a peck. Their lips slide together as her hands explore his body. He stretches under her touch, flexing the sleep from his muscles. Her fingers drag up the shaft of his morning wood and circle his tip. He lets out a soft groan. 

She pushes him gently into the bed so he’s flat on his back before she crawls on top of him, her legs falling to either side of his hips. He bends his knees, his legs spread to give her a better seat. Her mouth leaves his to plant a trail of kisses across his jaw and down his neck. He grips her ass and lets himself be devoured by her love. 

“I have something for you,” Cas says, her lips grazing against his skin. Dean lifts his head from the pillow to look at her. She bites his chest gently before sitting up and leaning over to the bedside table. She pulls out what looks like a dildo made of ivory. 

“Where did you even get that?” he asks as she shows him. 

“The apothecary,” she says as if it’s an obvious bit of trivia that everybody knows. “I just informed them of my fictional hysteria. Do you not like it?” 

“I didn’t say that.” The worry leaves her eyes and she lowers herself again so she can kiss him. “You want to take me?” he murmurs as she pulls his bottom lip with her teeth. She lets it go, her face hovering above his so only their noses are touching. “I’m yours.” 

She drops the dildo onto the bed beside them as she goes back to kissing him, her tongue in his mouth, breasts pressed against his chest. Dean moves one of his arms so he can caress her thigh all the way up. 

“Yes,” she breathes as his fingers slide between her wet lips. He dips a finger into her and watches as she closes her eyes, mouth open in a silent  _ oh _ . “What about you?” she asks suddenly, grabbing his wrist to stop him. 

“This  _ is _ for me,” he says. “I need wet fingers and I love the look on your face when I finger you.” She releases his wrist and goes back to nibbling and sucking his lips and tongue. He pumps his wrist, his fingers sliding quickly inside of her until she moans, a shiver running through her. 

He takes his fingers, slick with her come, and rubs them against his ass. Her tongue licks up his neck before sucking as he pushes one finger into himself. It’s been months since he or Cas has touched him like this. He groans and slides a second finger in, stretching himself slowly. 

Dean lets out a slow breath when he’s wet with her and as stretched as he’s going to be. Cas lifts her head from the crook of his neck to look down into his face adoringly. She knocks the tip of her nose against his and whispers, “Ready?” 

He nods and she readjusts herself. She slides his hard cock into her and plants herself down so he’s all the way inside of her. He wasn’t expecting it but he’s not complaining. She leans over to the side table again and pulls out a bottle that he recognizes from the kitchen. Olive oil? He watches her coat the dildo in oil before reaching behind her. With one hand, she grabs one of his asscheeks and spreads it while the other gently pushes the dildo into him. 

“Slowly,” he gasps, gripping her hips tight. She does as he says, moving slowly until the whole thing fills him. She slides it in and out of him gently, only picking up speed when he nods. 

In this position, with her straddling him and her arms behind her as she leans back, her breasts are pushed forward and her hair brushes against his knees. He runs a hand up the small curve of her stomach and up to her breast, gently running his thumb over her nipple. They have been more sensitive recently, making the gentle touch enough to make her moan. 

“Cas,” he groans as she fucks him harder in the ass. He doesn’t know how much more he can take. It feels too good to be inside of her and have her filling him at the same time. “Fuck!” His hand falls from her breast back to her hips to hold onto her as he crumbles under her. She pushes it all the way into him, hard, and he spills over, a loud moan escaping as he shuts his eyes. She rolls her hips against him as his orgasm crashes, more ropes filling her. 

“Oh, Dean,” she gasps, letting go of the dildo and holding his hands on her hips. 

When he’s finished, she dismounts and carefully takes the dildo from his ass, putting it on the floor with the chamber pot to be cleaned later. Dean is destroyed. He’s sprawled out on their bed, gazing at his beauty of a wife and wondering just how he’s supposed to do anything else today when he feels this good. Her cheeks are flushed, sweat beaded on her forehead, her mane of dark hair free, his name on her perfect pink lips as the sunlight from the window hits her smooth skin. Good morning indeed. 

It feels like ages since either Dean or Cas has gone into town. Her last trip had been secret to buy him a present and the apothecary wasn’t in this part of town. This trip has to be done though. Shopping and all. It feels like everything is done for him, but not today. Today they will be going to the seamstress to take measurements to alter Cas’ dresses and buy a new one just because. They also have a bassinet to order. 

Dean helps Cas out of the carriage and she takes his arm immediately as they start to make their walk through town. His top hat shades his face from the sunlight. He wants to play with it, but Cas shoots him a warning glance to behave. He can play with the coattails and the hats in their carriage or at home, but in public he has to pretend like this wardrobe is not funny at all. Not one bit. 

“Why’re they whispering?” Dean asks as they walk.

“You already married me and you’re still by my side as if still attempting to woo me,” Cas explains. “From what I can hear, anyway. Victoria Steele is jealous. Apparently she tried to earn your affections and failed and she’s still without a husband.” 

“Who’s Victoria Steele?” Dean asks, flabbergasted at the prospect that anyone would even try when it had been obvious from the start how hung up on Cas he was and still is. Will be forever. Cas laughs a little at his obliviousness and shakes her head. 

They make their way to the seamstress and Cas goes to talk to the woman while Dean runs his fingers over the different fabrics and patterns. It’s a sea of color. Dean makes quiet noises as he makes the waves crash over themselves, imagining a tiny surfer going across the flowery prints. 

“Oh, you’re expecting!” the seamstress says excitedly. He smiles to himself and moves on to a different section, spinning spools of thread. Stores definitely aren’t like this in the future. Maybe a craft store but Dean only ever went in there to buy spray paint for demon traps and he never just browsed the sewing aisles. 

“Yes, only a month gone,” Cas tells her. He looks over his shoulder to see Cas running a hand over her small baby bump. The seamstress raises her eyebrows, her eyes flickering to Dean. He feels his cheeks burn and looks away. 

“One… or four,” the woman says quietly. 

Dean accidentally knocks over one of the stands. It crashes and both the seamstress and Cas look over at him, startled. He tries to lean against the wall to look nonchalant and make them go back to their conversation but it’s not a wall and another display crashes to the ground. 

“Oh my god,” he groans. “I’m sorry. I’ll clean this up. Just go back to what you were doing. The dresses and the one month four month whatever.” Cas’ eyes widen at him, silently telling him to shove a sock in it. “Oh, come on. Really? She knows. We know. Can we go back to ignoring that I’m accidentally destroying the store, please?” 

“Quite,” Cas says, pulling the attention back to her as he tries to right the displays. Dean fixes the displays carefully as Cas gets her measurements taken and makes an appointment for her dresses to be picked up from the house. 

“That could have gone better,” Cas says when they leave the shop. “You’re lucky she finds our story romantic and you didn’t break anything.” 

“Sorry,” he mutters. “What do you mean she finds our story romantic? What does she know?” 

“Only how and when we met at the dance,” she says with a small shrug. “And of course all about how you had eyes for no one else. How you refused to dance or even notice another lady. That we disappeared together at a ball just before our noticeably short engagement. Just the gossip.” 

“Oh, is that all?” he laughs. “So she thinks I knocked you up night one?” he asks. 

“The future must be very crass,” Cas comments before nodding. “Yes. And we will let her believe it. It’s something to whisper about but not as scandalous now that we’re married. She is discreet. It won’t be news around the town.”

“No headlines?” Dean jokes. “Damn.” She only smiles back, shaking her head a little at him. “I kinda like being the talk of the town with you, ya know? Best relationship. Cutest couple for sure. Wedding. Baby.”

“You have been here for four months and you have yet to disappoint the gossips.” He suddenly realizes he has no idea about anything before he got here. He’d accepted pretty early on that he wasn’t part of a story, but thrown into the past. But how did he end up with a mansion and a full staff? How did he already have a good reputation and everything set up for him? Fucking angels, man.

“How long have you been here?” He asks.

“A year and six months,” she answers. “We were unsure of when…” Her hand smooths her dress down and she clears her throat. “I suppose we were unsure of when you would arrive.”

“Am I living someone else’s life? Was there a different Mr. Winchester who had this life before I was zapped here?” Dean asks in a hushed voice to make sure no one overhears him. Cas considers it.

“No. There wasn’t. All of the Winchesters went to America and the estate was left empty for many months before you arrived. Even as curious as I am, I do not wish to dwell on it. I have you here now. I never want to let you go.” She grips his arm tighter and looks up at him. He nods, dropping it as they near their next shop. He still has questions, but for what might be the first time, he’s okay if they remain unanswered. 

While they were in town they’d also picked up more art supplies for Cas. He’d thought she would paint more sunsets or landscapes. She had an art studio set up in the manor that was empty of furniture except for a lone easel. She had sketch pads and canvases, oil paints, an array of brushes, and charcoal. Everything faced a wide window that overlooked the grounds. Dean had spent hours already just watching her paint. 

When they get back home, Dean goes with her to the studio and sits on the floor. He’d taken off his coat and handed it off to Mr. Butler on their way in but he’d kept the hat. He sits on the floor, his back against the wall as he pushes up his sleeves and plays with his hat. Cas sets up a fresh canvas and takes out her paints. 

“Do I paint in the future?” Cas asks.

“Hmm?” Dean looks up at her. She’s silhouetted by the massive window as she begins to paint. “No. I mean, you draw sigils and whatever. You don’t really have hobbies in the future. There’s not a lot of time for them. With the multiple apocalypses and all. Is it apocalypses or apocalypsees? Or apocalypseses?” 

“The world is ending?” Cas asks, turning to look at him.

“No.” He shakes his head and spins his top hat on his finger, hitting it with his other hand to keep it spinning. “We stop that from happening all the time. That’s kind of what we do, ya know?” 

“I did not know,” she says and he laughs. The top hat falls to the floor beside him where he lets it sit. 

“I really need to stop telling you shit about the future.” He shakes his head and yawns. “I’m going to fuck something up for sure by telling you so much.” 

“Most likely,” she says in a deadpan that is not reassuring. “You’re falling asleep.”

“I’m resting my eyes,” he argues, folding his arms over his chest defiantly and yawning again. “I am  _ not _ falling asleep.” Her laugh is gentle and disbelieving. Her happiness fills the room and warms him with a comforting embrace. 

When he wakes up, her painting is abandoned on the easel. Cas is sitting on the floor in front of him, sketching with charcoal. “Don’t move,” she says, her eyes flickering up to him. He doesn’t move a muscle, content to watch her sketch him. 

“Hey, beautiful,” he says gently.

She pauses, glancing up at him, the corner of her lips pulling up to give her a small, crooked smile. “Hello, Dean.” 

“Leave us,” Cas says when Dean leans against the doorway of the bathroom. She’s already in the large tub, cloth draped over the side that she’s leaning against. Her hair is down, the thick strands wet. The maid walks past Dean, pausing only to bow before she closes the door behind her, leaving Dean and Cas alone. 

Cas splashes the water a little and watches Dean as he strips, pulling the layers away from his body slowly so she can drink him in. Her eyes rake over his body unabashedly. 

He walks closer to the tub and she stands, water dripping from her naked body as she reaches out and fits her hand over his scar. Her handprint burn has healed into a scar, the puffiness of the original burn gone. All that remains is the perfect shape of her hand made of shiny pink skin. Dean tilts her chin up gently and presses his lips to hers. 

When their lips part, she steps forward and he climbs in behind her, sitting down so she can fit between his legs. She leans back against his chest as he wraps his arms around her, his face dipping into the curve of her neck as his hands run over her body. Her fingers lace with his, guiding his hands to her baby bump. He kisses her neck as he holds her against him. 

“She’s going to be beautiful,” Cas whispers, resting her head against Dean’s shoulder. 

“She?” he murmurs back.

“She.” Dean lifts his head to see Cas is smiling. “Our baby girl.” 

Dean caresses her stomach. It’s becoming more real every day. Having this baby with Cas is infinitely better than he thought possible. He didn’t know he could feel so full of love for someone who isn’t even born yet. 

“I love you,” Dean whispers into Cas’ temple as he presses a kiss there. 

“My love,” she answers, turning her face to his to kiss him on the mouth. “My husband.” 


	14. Chapter 14

Isabel Novak had wanted her big sister to be her chaperone for every occasion. She had practically begged, but Cas had had to tell her no. Instead, Cas had promised to take her to her first dance after coming out. Soon, Cas would be showing too much and would have to be too careful to help Isabel find a good suitor. At least, that’s what Cas explained to Dean that morning at breakfast. 

“So we’re going to a dance with Izzie?” he asks. “Why?” 

“She cannot attend dances _alone_ ,” Cas explains. “She and Grace were close. They had made a promise to do this well before I came into the picture. I can’t let her down. She’s already disappointed that I won’t be able to attend more.” 

“Will she be mad if I come?” Dean sips his coffee and vaguely tries to remember when he’d gotten used to the different flavor than his usual crappy cup from a diner. 

“She fancies you, Dean. No, she won’t be irritated if you accompany us.” Cas takes a bite of her honey-smeared bread while Dean laughs. 

“She can’t still have a crush on me,” he says, rolling his eyes. “Does this mean I get to dress up fancy again?” Cas nods and he grins. “What do chaperones even do? Can’t be that hard, right?”

“We have to ensure that the men who wish to spend time with her are of suitable blood and have good intentions. She can’t show favoritism among her suitors, dancing with everyone.” Dean snorts at that. He hadn’t done that and by the end, Cas was refusing dances left and right. “I don’t know if we are the best example for her now that you point it out.”

“I didn’t say anything,” Dean laughs. “But I mean, uh. Not really, no.” When he laughs again, Cas reaches out and takes his hand, rubbing her thumb over his as their clasped hands rest on the table between them. 

“You can ask Mr. Butler about it later while I help Isabel get ready this afternoon.” She shakes her head a little. “That poor butler.” 

“He loves me,” Dean says adamantly. “And true love lasts a lifetime,” he adds dramatically because he’d heard it in a movie. He does believe Jeeves likes him despite the improper ways that Dean walks and talks and acts. Dean actually thinks of Jeeves as a good friend which would never be allowed if he had actually been born this century. 

“Apparently longer,” Cas says under her breath with a soft smile. She melts his heart with those smiles, those quips. “True love spans the ages, stretches through space and time, knows no boundaries, and breaks all laws.” 

“When did you get so mushy and romantic?” Dean asks.

“When I met you,” she says, glaring at him. “I was a soldier and I knew nothing of love and then you walked into a ballroom all breathless with my true name. How was I supposed to keep my wits about me, Dean Winchester?” He only grins. 

“Jeeves?” Dean calls. The other servants have gotten used to the fact that their head of staff, Mr. Butler, has accepted this name and recognizes it as belonging to him. When he isn’t close enough to hear Dean, someone goes to find him regardless of the name. 

He remembers a time when he had called for Jeeves when Mr. Butler hadn’t been in the room and another servant had tentatively stepped forward asking what it was that Dean needed. Being in need of someone to talk to because he was in the middle of a panic, Dean had only spluttered, “Jeeves. I need Jeeves. Uhm. Fuck. The name. Butler. Mr. Butler.” 

“Sir?” Jeeves asks as he walks into the room. 

“Miss Isabel is coming this afternoon and we’re supposed to take her to a dance and chaperone and Cas said she’s staying for the weekend.” He’s excited about all of it. He likes going to parties with Cas. She’s already told him they won’t be dancing, but he remembers gossiping and that’s just as fun. He likes dressing up too. And he’s never had anyone stay over at his mansion before, so he has no idea how that’s going to go. 

“We will make up a room for her at once,” Jeeves says. 

“On the other side of the house,” Dean says slowly. “Yes.”

“The other side of the house, sir?” 

“Dean?” Cas asks as she walks into the room. “Why does she need to be on the other side of the manor?” 

He pulls Cas away from Jeeves and lowers his voice. “You are not quiet and I never want you to be quiet. And she will be here for a whole weekend.” 

“Please set her room up on the other side of the manor,” Cas says to Jeeves with a nod. “That will be just fine.” Dean smiles as he watches her go.

“Also, since we’re going out, we need to dress fancy tonight. I think Cas has a dress picked out already. Can you help me later?” He could get dressed by himself actually, except he’s always worried about ripping the coats. And he hasn’t quite figured out how to tie the cravat so it looks perfect like when Jeeves does it. 

“Certainly, sir.” Mr. Butler bows his head. He leaves to go get Isabel’s rooms prepared and ready Dean’s outfit for tonight. 

Dean follows after where he’d seen Cas disappear to and hears her voice singing over the soft playing of the piano. He walks along the path of notes laid out for him until he finds himself in the empty ballroom. Cas’ eyes are closed as she plays, her eyebrows furrowed just a little. He watches her fingers dance over the ivory delicately and feels himself smile. 

“ _So close, no matter how far. It couldn’t be much more from the heart…_ ” she sings their song. “I can feel your longing. Come here.” she says, her hands continuing the song without the lyrics. Dean crosses the room to her and wraps his arms around her. She tilts her face up and he kisses her upside down. 

The room is filled with crashing notes when she turns around and falls back against the piano, their lips hot and urgent on each other’s. Moans crescendo with the song of sex on the keys. Her hands hold him tight, digging into his back. His pants are on the floor around his ankles, her skirts pushed up around her hips. Their breath mingles between them, both of them breathing too hard to actually kiss so all they can do is hover close, their noses touching, lips only grazing as they groan. 

“Dean!” she gasps. One of his hands slams down on the keys, covering his moan as he comes. She captures his mouth and kisses him deeply until they finally stop moving. 

“I was coming in here to listen to you play music,” Dean whispers against her lips. “How does this always happen?” She kisses him again and nibbles on his lip in answer. “Right. That’s how.” 

Dean slides out of her and steps away so he can pull up his pants while she rights her skirts. Just in time because the door opens and Dean scrambles to button faster, keeping his back facing the door as Cas sits down on the piano bench again and pats down her dress. 

“Oh, excuse me,” a maid says quickly before the door shuts again. Dean can’t help it. He bursts out laughing and Cas giggles. 

“It could have been worse,” Cas says, looking over her shoulder at him as he finishes with his pants. 

“Our poor scandalized staff,” Dean says, shaking his head. “I think Isabel will be here soon so I should go get dressed.” He gives Cas a quick kiss before heading toward the door. 

“Have fun,” Cas says as she turns back to the piano. Why should he have fun getting dressed? She can’t see the questioning look on his face and he didn’t ask out loud but she answers anyway. “Coattails.”

“Coattails!” Dean grins and leaves the room as she begins to play their song again. 

It feels like days later, but it’s only been a few hours before Dean sees Cas again. They had decided that Isabel could have a Cinderella entrance. Dean had, of course, had to explain what that meant, but once he’d explained, Cas had been on board. So Dean and Jeeves stand at the bottom of the stairs with their hands behind their backs as they wait for the ladies. 

Cas comes down first. She’s wearing her new dress. It’s more flowy than her other ones, better at hiding her increasingly obvious baby bump. Her curls are perfectly placed. Her jewelry is understated and still expensive enough to show her status. Her gloved hand slides along the railing. She looks elegant. Dean wants to sweep her off her feet and into his arms but he remains at the bottom of the stairs staring up at her like the angel she is. When she gets to the bottom, Dean stoops into a bow and kisses her hand before pulling her to his side to wait for Isabel.

Isabel looks like she’s trying to keep a straight face but can’t, her excitement seeping through and making her smile and blush. She has lighter hair than Cas. It’s almost blonde, but not quite. Her eyes are a lighter blue too. She lifts her chin as she descends, trying to appear more regal than any sixteen year old ever actually looks. She lets out a small squeal of delight when she reaches the bottom step. 

“My first ball!” she says, absolutely beaming at Dean and Cas. 

“Ready, Izzie?” Dean asks. Isabel looks like she might faint, but she just nods. “After you,” Dean says as Cas takes his arm. Isabel talks ahead of them to the carriage. 

“She will never be over this childish infatuation with you if you start giving her nicknames,” Cas whispers. He nicknames everyone. How could that possibly add to a crush? “Stop questioning me,” she warns him.

“I didn’t say anything,” he protests quietly before helping her up into the carriage. They sit beside each other facing Isabel. She’s buzzing with excitement still. She’s probably been waiting for this for her entire life. Now it’s here and she’s riding in a carriage that belongs to the wealthiest family in town, her favorite sister as her chaperone, and pearls in her hair. 

It feels like the moment after they arrive, Isabel is swept off into a dance. The man who’d swooped in for the first dance looked nice enough if not too old for a sixteen-year-old, but Cas had approved it. Dean had gone to find drinks before making his way back to Cas. He sits in the chair next to hers and looks out at the crowd of high society ladies and gentlemen delicately dancing as they size each other up.

“Is that Miss Smith?” Dean asks, nodding in her direction. 

“Mrs. Douglas now,” Cas says without missing a beat. “They were married last week. Miss Rogers was noticeably absent, feigning illness.” 

“Uh-huh. Sick. Sure.” Dean rolls his eyes. “Do we know what we’re actually supposed to be doing here besides judging Izzie’s dance partners?”

“That’s exactly what we’re doing here.” Cas takes a sip from the drink Dean brought her. “We are also to ensure that she dances with all men equally and stays away from rakes.”

“Are we really the best example of dancing with all partners equally? Really?” Cas glances at him and shakes her head a little. “And this guy? Why did you say yes to this guy?”

“There is nothing wrong with Mr. Jacobs,” Cas says with a sigh.

“Are we talking about the same person? Look at that guy! He’s way too old for her!” 

“I might remind you that I am centuries old and you have yet to be born,” Cas says flatly. Dean chokes and looks at her. She looks proud of herself as she looks out at the dancing. 

“That is completely different,” Dean says. “Also kinda case in point. Fine. I still don’t like him,” Dean huffs. “She’s too young for this. Can’t she come back in a few years and try again?”

“She’s the right age according to this time period,” Cas counters. “Do try to relax. It’s just a dance. She’s not being proposed to.”

“Yet. But that is the entire point of this, isn’t it?” Dean asks. “Oh god, that ancient guy she’s dancing with is going to want to marry her and it’s going to be so gross.” 

“He’s not more than thirty. Besides, I think she has her eye on someone else, love,” Cas says after a moment. “I just can’t tell who she’s looking at.”

“What?” Dean sits up straighter and watches Isabel’s eyes drift from her practically-dead-of-old-age partner to the doors. “There’s a ton of people over there. I can’t tell who she’s making eyes at.” Isabel blushes and looks down, her smile small. 

“What is it?” Cas asks.

“I think she likes someone,” Dean says. “Should I go check who?”

“We will ask her when she returns,” Cas says, grabbing his arm and pulling him back into his seat. “You do not need to interview each man at the door.” 

“I should. If she’s supposed to be dancing with everyone.” 

“Isabel is bound to be popular. She is of good breeding and very attractive in both looks and prospects. Many men will be wanting to dance with her tonight. I doubt you will be able to kill all of them.” 

“I’ve done worse,” Dean mutters. Cas looks alarmed and he remembers that she doesn’t know that yet. He would correct himself and say that no one innocent was on that list, but that would be a lie. He clamps his mouth shut. “Isabel, remember? We’re here for her.” Cas makes a noise and looks back toward the dance floor where Isabel is now walking back toward them. 

“How was your first dance?” Cas asks as Isabel reaches them. 

“Wonderful!” She grins and refrains from bouncing on her feet. She is an elegant lady now after all. 

“Anyone catchin’ your eye?” Dean asks, trying to sound as casual about it as possible and probably failing. Isabel’s eyes dart towards the door and she blushes and she shakes her head. “Oh, that’s a yes.” 

“It might be. I do wish to dance with him, but it wouldn’t be allowed.” She looks down. “He _is_ just a footman.” 

“Love is more important than money anyway,” Dean says. “Who is he?” 

“Oh, goodness. It is good Mother isn’t here,” Isabel says, looking at Cas. “I do wish to dance with him though. He is so handsome and his eyes are kind.”

“You know that I agree with Dean, but he would lose his only position if he left his post to dance with you. Dean will speak with him. Neither of us would be able to stop him anyway. In the meantime, you have another suitor approaching.” 

“You are the worst chaperone. You are supposed to scold me for this behavior, not encourage it! I love you, sister,” Isabel says in a whisper.

Dean is already out of his seat and headed toward the door. There’s only one footman and he looks young. Seventeen maybe. This has to be the guy. 

“May I ask your name?” Dean asks as he approaches. 

“Mr. Wilkes, sir,” the footman answers immediately. “How may I be of service, Mr. Winchester?” 

“Awesome. You know my sister already. Miss Isabel Novak?” Dean says, turning to glance over his shoulder at her as she walks back onto the dancefloor with another partner. “I mean you haven’t stopped staring at each other since she walked in.”

“No, sir. I don’t… I didn’t… I…” he flounders.

“It’s fine. It’s fine,” Dean says quickly. “I get that you’re a footman or whatever and she’s basically a lady? I mean she is a lady. But you’ve made an impression. So maybe if you had help?” 

“Sir?” 

“I don’t know how else to say this. Mrs. Winchester and I would be willing to help to make sure Miss Isabel is happy and you seem to be the object of her desires or however that phrase works. Right? So?” Dean should have sent Cas over. 

“I couldn’t. She is well above my station and well above me in every way. She is very beautiful and I would hate for her station and reputation to tarnish because of me, sir,” Mr. Wilkes says. 

“So you do like her,” Dean says, grinning. “Great. I’ll help, then.”

“Sir!”  
“I need to go tell my wife, but you’re good.” He leaves Fred or whatever his name was (he looked like a Fred) at the door looking like he’s just fallen down a flight of stairs and survived to go tell Cas that he absolutely approves of this love interest of Izzie’s. 

Cas is the one with the good sense to go over to the footman while Izzie is dancing and give him a fake message to deliver to Isabel after the dance. 

“You told me his name was Fred,” Cas scolds as she sits back down beside Dean. “Imagine my surprise when he informed me his name is Mr. Wilkes.” 

“I forgot,” Dean says simply. “What’d he say?”  
  
“That he would deliver the message. Of course.” Cas looks pleased with herself as she looks at Dean. “They would make an attractive couple. But what do I know? I’m no cupid.” 

“Might as well be. Look at you.” He takes her hand and smiles. “All you’re missing is a bow and arrow.” 

“That’s wildly inaccurate,” Cas says. “They are completely different. They are a different ranking of angel. Matchmakers are nothing like soldiers.”

“I know, I know. I’ve met one.” Dean looks back out to the dancing. It doesn’t really make sense that they’re still here watching her dance with everyone who asks when she’s already got her heart set on the footman. He remembers his own jealousy watching Cas dance with the others not even more than a few months ago. “Why can’t she dance with the only guy she wants to?”

“It would be improper,” Cas reminds him evenly. “Besides, they haven’t even spoken yet. I wasn’t aware that you were a matchmaker yourself.” 

“Oh! The dance is over! There he goes!” Dean says excitedly as he purposefully ignores Cas’ last words. He is not a matchmaker and he is most certainly not caught up in gossip or other people’s love lives. Not one bit. Cas leans forward in her chair, watching as Fred delivers the message to Isabel. “What’d you tell him to tell her anyway?”  
  
“To tell her that her sister and brother are in support of such a courtship between her and Mr. Wilkes,” Cas says. She’s a softie. She has enough power in her little finger to level an entire town, she is a highly regarded soldier from Heaven, but she looks at Dean with adoration and sets up her vessel’s sister with her crush despite the gap in social status. She’s got some soft spots that Heaven could never have anticipated. 

Dean and Cas watch as one gentleman, in particular, starts to try and remain at Isabel’s side throughout the night. Dean mumbles how he doesn’t approve. “Who is this nutjob anyway?”

“If he approaches her again, I will smite him where he stands,” Cas snarls. Dean looks from the dance to Cas, suddenly alert. Her eyes are unwavering from the sir who refuses to give up and she looks ready to drop her angel blade into her hand and slaughter him. 

“Cas, I think we need to leave,” Dean says. “Like now.” He glances back to Isabel who is walking toward them. Also walking toward her is the man that Cas is about to murder if Dean lets go of her arm. He’s not a fan of him, but he’s also worried because he’s never seen Cas so mad outside of battle. Her eyes flash with grace as her lip curls. “Yeah, we’re leaving,” Dean says, standing and blocking Isabel and her persistent fellow from view. “Come on, Cas.”

“Dean, he is trying—”

“I know. I’m not happy about it either, but we have to get out of here before you burn this entire estate to the ground.” She holds onto his arm as she looks around him. Isabel has gotten away from him and is almost to them now. 

“Are we leaving?” Isabel asks, clearly confused. 

“Yeah. Cas doesn’t feel well and it’s getting late,” Dean says, pulling Cas from the room as she digs her heels in, her eyes still trained on the fool who thought he could take more of Isabel’s time than Cas had allowed. 

“Cas?” Isabel looks at her sister. “Her name is Grace?”

“It’s a nickname,” Dean offers. When they get outside, the cord of certain death for that man snaps. Cas takes a deep breath and looks up at Dean. 

“We could have stayed longer.”

“I don’t think we could’ve,” he says. “Anyway, did you have a good time?” he asks Isabel as they make their way down to the carriage that is being pulled around. 

“I did. Thank you for allowing Mr. Wilkes to talk to me,” she says with a slight blush. “Tonight was dreamlike.” Dean smiles as Isabel does a spin, her grinning face tilted toward the star-studded sky. 

He helps her into the carriage before Cas and climbs in after them. Isabel starts to tell Cas in great detail about all of the dances and especially about all she thought of Mr. Wilkes. Dean sits back and watches Cas listen intently, any sign of her near-murderous rage gone, left behind in the ballroom. 


	15. Chapter 15

Dean wakes up in the middle of the night when a crash of thunder booms on a clear night. Cas is standing by the window, her hands pressed to the bottom of her belly. “What's goin’ on?” Dean mumbles as he sits up.

“I think she kicked,” Cas whispers. Moonlight spills in through the window making her more ethereal looking than she already does. 

“What?” Dean sits up. “Is it raining?”

“The thunder was her, I think,” Cas says, walking back to bed and laying down next to Dean. She takes his hand and places it over her stomach, closing her eyes. “I felt our little girl,” she whispers. Dean kisses her bump gently. 

“Our little girl,” he repeats softly as he dips back under the veil of sleep. 

The next morning, Dean is walking down to breakfast with Cas on his arm when he remembers the not dream he’d had. “Wait, did you tell me that our baby  _ kicking _ made thunder?”

“I believe so,” Cas says. She didn’t bother putting her hair up today. She rarely wears it up unless they’re going out or having guests, but Dean hadn’t known if she would wear it down with her sister staying. 

“That is so fucking cool.” There are no words for how excited Dean is to be a dad. Not just a dad. He’d randomly been placed in that position before, but this was different. His heart is full with becoming a parent with Cas. That their baby, half-human, half-angel, is already strong enough to force thunder to roll across the night with her first fluttering kick. Cas looks over at him, her heart in her eyes. 

They make their way to the dining room for breakfast, frequently looking over at the other and sharing a small look that says it all.  _ Our baby is growing and she is going to be amazing. _

“Did anyone hear the thunder last night?” Isabel asks when she takes her seat at the table. 

“We did,” Cas says, her smile unable to be contained. Dean squeezes her hand under the table. 

“Was there even any rain? This is peculiar,” Isabel says.

“Jeeves?” Dean asks, inviting him to answer the question.

“No, sir. No rain, but a burst of thunder with no lightning to accompany it. Odd indeed,” Jeeves says which only makes Cas squeeze Dean’s hand again. She’s only a little over a month along and their baby is strong enough to make thunder roll. 

“I do wish to clarify something,” Isabel pipes up after taking a few bites of her breakfast. Dean and Cas both look over at her. “You both offered your blessing for my wish to court with Mr. Wilkes.” Jeeves chokes and covers it with a small throat-clearing cough. “Mother would never be as forward-thinking. I should never be able to see him again. And if I did, he would lose his position as you pointed out. I would lose my reputation. How could this ever work?” 

“Oh! I saw this in a movie once!” Dean says excitedly. “I mean… a play? Opera? If you write to Cas, I mean Grace, and she gives them to Jeeves… Jeeves, you do know Mr. Wilkes, right? Considering you almost choked when you heard her mention him?”

“I do, sir,” Jeeves says, his expression unreadable. 

“Okay, so then Jeeves can send your letter on to Mr. Wilkes and he can reply the same way,” Dean explains. Isabel, Cas, and Mr. Butler all stare at Dean like he’s gone insane. “It’ll work, trust me.” 

“And the question of my reputation and his position if we were found out or wished to marry?” Isabel asks. 

“Do you actually think you love him?” Dean asks. It’s a reasonable question. They’ve spoken all of one time, but she was obviously smitten. When he had been little, he’d believed in true love. It had been taken away from him for awhile, but then he met Cas. He wasn’t in a position to tell her that she didn’t know what her heart wanted. Especially in a time where you basically dated anyone with a good price tag and called it good. The most he could hope for his sort-of sister-in-law is her heart to lead her to something she believes is love. 

“I hardly know him, but I think I could be very soon,” she admits, her eyes falling to the table. She plays with her food, moving her spoon through the porridge slowly to make swirls.

“Then I’ll take care of it. Just write your letters. Go to your balls or whatever. It’ll be fine.” Her eyes dart back up as if to check to see if he’s serious. She looks to Cas.

“Just don’t tell Mother,” Cas adds. 

“That,” Dean agrees with a nod. 

When Cas plays the piano, her eyes are either closed, the music flowing through her effortlessly, or her eyes are locked with Dean’s, the passion she holds in her heart pouring onto the keys. Dean gets lost watching her play and listening to the songs that he’s brought back in time to her or the songs that she’s learned through time period’s Dean never gave two thoughts about. Right now, her back is straight, her head tilted, dark hair forming a waterfall down her back, her eyes closed as her fingers dance over the keys delicately. Dean is mesmerized. 

“I do wish my future husband will look at me like that,” Isabel says softly. Dean looks over his shoulder. She’s on the other couch with her needlepoint in her lap. 

“If he knows what’s good for him, he will,” Dean says, turning back to ignore the book in his lap and watch Cas. He wishes that the Bunker had a piano so they could have spent more time like this. If he had known, he would have bought one. 

“Do you know many stories?” Isabel asks. 

“Tons. What kind of stories do you mean?” Dean closes the book on his lap and sets it on the side table. “The kind with princesses and dragons? The kind with creatures and things that go bump in the night?”

“Do tell us one,” Isabel says, a smile brightening her face. 

Dean considers regaling tales of his adventures as a hunter, but he doesn’t want to spoil the future for Cas. He also doesn’t know how people fight right now. He’s never used a musket and he’s a big fan of guns and grenade launchers. He isn’t sure how he remembers the entire story of the Princess Bride, but he is sure that Isabel hasn’t heard it. The music Cas is playing starts to mirror the mood of whatever scene Dean is describing and soon, he’s not just telling the story, he’s acting it out, brandishing an invisible sword, sipping imaginary poisoned wine, dragging himself across the floor when Wesley is paralyzed. Each kissing scene, Dean lift’s Cas’ chin, pressing his lips to hers softly, the music pausing as she kisses back. 

“The story, Dean,” she reminds him. 

“The story!” he continues, stepping away from her to continue. Isabel is enthralled, on the edge of her seat as he tells a story that everyone in the future knows but certainly not her or Cas. When he finishes, he plops back down on the couch he’d started from and looks over at Isabel who applauds. 

Dean never thought he would be so carefree in his life. Sure, he had down days at the Bunker. He had his moments when he was driving in between hunts. Nothing compared to this. He can’t hunt here. He could probably learn to with some time, but what would be the point? He has a wife. He’s going to be a father. If the other angels catch wind of him, he might endanger everyone. If he makes a mess of things, he ruins everything. He doesn’t know how long he’ll last in his blissed out bubble but he wants to stay. He loves that he can spend afternoons reenacting The Princess Bride while Cas plays the piano. He loves that he gets to sleep in the same place every night with his arms around Cas. He hadn’t thought he would be able to let go, but part of him knows that he deserves this. 

Isabel had returned home the following day, probably to tell her mother just how fantastically the ball had gone. There had been no hiccups like her sister threatening to smite a man. Her brother-in-law certainly didn’t pave the way for her to start a secret relationship with a man well below her station. No. All that had happened was she was asked to dance frequently, everyone wanting a chance to dance with her. And her mother would be proud. 

They learn of this from a few letters. The first is from Mrs. Novak, who writes to thank them for bringing Isabel to her first ball and details just how great of a time her daughter had while missing all the dramatic parts. The next is from Isabel, who writes a small thank you without many details just to cover up the letter she’s snuck into the pile. Cas scans it before refolding it and passing it to Jeeves. 

“Please send this out immediately,” Cas says. 

“Of course, ma’am.” He bows before he leaves the room and no one says another word about it. 

Time seems to pass differently in this time period. There aren’t any tv or movies, though they did manage to make it to an opera. There’s more time for hobbies and practicing skills like piano and fishing than there ever had been before. The days are long, but they’re filled with love. In the early mornings before either of them have dressed, in the lazy afternoons with paint all over Cas’ hands, at night when Dean should be sleeping. 

“What’re you thinking about?” Dean asks on one of those evenings that are bathed in the golden glow of sunset. Cas rests against him, her head on his chest as they both cradle her growing bump. Their legs are tangled together, their sheets smelling of sex. Dean presses a kiss to the side of her head. 

“She needs a name,” Cas says softly. “She’s going to be here in three months.”

“Like what?” Dean had only been asked to help in the naming process of one other person in his entire life and his parents had decided on Samuel rather than his suggestion of Bullseye. To be fair, he had been four at the time. “Where do angel names come from?”

“Many things. My name on a basic level means shield of God. I am his soldier, afterall. I was also named for my elder sister who died before my creation, Cassiel. We are both known as the angel of Thursday, but I only am because she was before me.”

“So even angels get named after family members?” Dean wonders, lowering his face into Cas’ shoulder to kiss her shoulders. 

“I suppose. Does that help somehow?” Cas turns her face toward him and he steals a kiss from her lips which makes her smile. 

“Maybe.” He doesn’t want to say it in case Cas hates it. Well, at least he’s not about to say Bullseye. “Samantha?”

“After Sam,” Cas whispers. 

“Sammy,” Dean smiles. Cas runs her hand over her stomach and nods. 

“Samantha is perfect.” 

Dean feels a kick against his palm and the clouds burst, thunder and lightning crashing together as rain pours. Dean gasps and holds tighter, clinging to the small movement. The first kick he’s felt. “She kicked!” 

He turns Cas so she’s sideways across his legs. She wraps her arms around him immediately and lets him smother her with kisses, his excitement overflowing. Her lips are sweet and warm on his, her hands in his hair and on his jaw. He pulls her closer still.

“I love you,” he murmurs into her mouth.

“My husband,” she breathes. “How lucky I am to be in love with you.” 

There’s a flower on her pillow. It tells him all he needs to know upon waking up. He takes it and hastily gets dressed before walking outside. He makes his way out to the garden she’d started. It’s in a secluded part of the grounds. He’d deemed it her secret garden. She didn’t understand the reference. He couldn’t love her more. 

When he gets to her garden, he stops, absolutely breathless. Her clothes are in a small pile near her bare feet. Her hair is free with little white clovers stuck into the dark mane. Bees surround her, buzzing as they land on her, adorning her like jewels. She’s speaking softly in Enochian as she brushes a flower over her pregnant belly. 

Cas is naked, covered in bees. He’s only seen Cas like this one other time. He had stood in front of Dean without a stitch of clothing, not even his white scrubs that he’d been refusing to take off at the time. Bees covered him, though not very well. He’d been speaking in the same Enochian, his eyes searching Dean’s. Dean wonders if this is what Cas was remembering, his mind fragile after taking on the horrors of Sam’s mind. He’d probably been reaching to any happy memory to keep himself afloat. He might have gotten lost for a moment and stood before Dean in a memory of the past rather than firmly in the present. 

“Hello, Dean,” Cas says now, her eyes finding his. Shocking blue that rips through to his core and roots him here. 

“Mornin’, Sunshine,” Dean answers, his voice as soft as his heart. A bee lands on her wedding ring and she smiles, lifting her hand up to eye level slowly and watching silently. She is breathtaking. Dean leans against a tree, his own smile turning his lips as his heart beats for her. 

_ Sir, _

_ With heavy heart I write. The pilgrimage is thus successful in leading the swine from that which they seek. I summon forth demons to battle to keep them occupied, though I am afraid this charade will not last forever. Perhaps we will meet again in April next if I am to continue on this string of successes. The weather has been odd. I believe I know the source. Know this, the thunder has reached Denmark. None should find the source but I. December will see storms of greater proportion. Let us hope they are not condensed to your immediate area. I hope this letter finds you swiftly. Be in good health, my dear friends.  _

_ -B _

“We have to burn this,” Cas says as soon as Dean hands the letter to her. They go to his office and shut the door. Dean looks for the flint but Cas snaps her fingers and the candle almost erupts. That’s been happening recently. Every small angelic act was suddenly overpowered. If she tried to snuff a flame without a breath, every candle and fire in the house would go out at once. She’s tried to warm the bathwater a little more one day and it had started boiling. Dean was just glad neither of them had gotten in yet. 

Dean holds the letter over the flame that has now eaten half of his candle. When the words go up in smoke, Dean blows it out, only holding onto a small blank corner of the letter. “What do we do in April?” he asks, fear creeping in. 

“We fight,” Cas says, her eyes flickering with light. It’s a good thing none of the servants are around. 

“Thunder all the way in Denmark?” 

“I’m not surprised. She gets stronger each month.” They only have two months left to go. Dean hopes Balthazar can keep them on that wild goose chase of his. 


	16. Chapter 16

Mr. Butler loves Winter mornings. The dew is cold enough to crystalize on the windows, a beautiful frost decorates each pane to filter the sunlight. What frost there is on the grass and windows melts away as the sun rises, giving way to a perfectly suitable day. The chill isn’t severe, there are no clouds in the sky, and the sun shines in a contented manner. If the sun could be content. 

Winter also moves slower it seems. Or perhaps it feels that way with the Winchesters. There have been no guests since Miss Isabel’s ball in August last. They had left for an opera once, but beyond that there had been no other major excursions or parties. They opted for Mr. Evans to complete all shopping that needed to be done. 

Mrs. Winchester has been in confinement for two weeks, which is rather early considering. He doesn’t pass judgment. His employers are more a family to him than any others, even if he would never say so aloud. The Winchesters are the happiest couple he ever had the good fortune to know let alone work for. Four months early explains the privacy and none on his staff speak a word of it. 

Mr. Winchester spends his time at his piano or upstairs where he can be heard reading to Mrs. Winchester for hours. He is the most attentive husband that Mr. Butler has ever seen. Love must be the most powerful force this world will know. 

“Hey, Jeeves,” Mr. Winchester greets as Mr. Butler walks into the drawing room with Miss Clarke who has his tea service. The name is a term of endearment, Mr. Butler had come to realize quite early on. He wears it like a badge of honor, no longer correcting him.

“Good afternoon, sir. Your tea service.” 

“It’s already two?” Dean asks. It is peculiar how attached he is to the idea of tea time being served precisely at two. Since the first day that he had returned from town to announce his guest of the former Miss Novak for tea and fumbled his pocketwatch, tea was never to be served any later. His employer is odd, but he is kind. “Stay with me? Cas isn’t up for tea today.” 

“I shall stay, but I cannot take tea with you,” Mr. Butler says. It is improper enough that he is taking a seat in another chair as Mr. Winchester sits on the couch opposite. 

“Yeah, yeah. I know. Improper and all that.” He takes a sip of his tea and leans back. “I have a question. How long have you worked for me?” 

Mr. Butler cannot actually recall. He has worked for the Winchesters, a large and well-known family, for a long time. The previous Winchester family had gone to the Americas and not long after, Mr. Winchester had arrived. “April last, I suppose.” It does seem odd that it has been such a short time. He does feel so attached to this family. So taken in and cared for. 

“Okay, so uh, I know you already said you don’t date,” Mr. Winchester says, a mischievous glint in his eye as if he is fully aware that he should not be asking. “Have you  _ ever _ been in love? Like any childhood crushes or anything? You weren’t always a butler.” 

“I was not always a butler,” Mr. Butler agrees. “I did not have any romantic feelings for another, no, sir,” he lies easily. He is not in love now, nor will he ever be, but there had once been a closeness that was never again replicated. His childhood friend, Thomas, had been most dear to him. They had played the days away until their boyish times had grown out of them with the baby fat and high voices. The boys they had been were replaced with gangly teenagers and collars that poked up into their chins. He and Thomas had shared one kiss, the memory stained on his heart. Their lips had shared a secret, one of dangerous passion. No one had seen and neither boy spoke a word. Not as far as Mr. Butler knew anyway. That had been the last time he had spoken to Thomas. The following day, Thomas had left for boarding school and they never saw the other again. 

“You know you’re allowed to ask me things too, right?” Mr. Winchester says after another sip of tea. He looks oddly misplaced. He keeps his hair short, trimming it himself with shears every few weeks, and there is something about the way he holds a teacup that would insinuate that he had never held one before. His speech and lack of societal manners also places him oddly here in this moment. He would seem a man out of time. 

“I do have to wait for permission, sir,” Mr. Butler reminds him. Mr. Winchester waves his hand, batting away the notion and shaking his head. “I suppose I—”

The room shakes, the teacup rattling on the tray. Mr. Winchester braces himself, grabbing onto the arm of the sofa and peering around the room suspiciously before sitting up straight again. “Was that an earthquake?”

“Heavens! An earthquake? In England?” Mr. Butler has never heard of such a thing happening. He cannot seem to grasp any other explanation that makes any kind of sense. He rises from his seat and orders Miss Clarke to go upstairs to check on Mrs. Winchester. 

“I should probably go,” Mr. Winchester says, also rising from his seat and heading to the stairs. 

“Please, sir, finish your tea. We will get this sorted,” Mr. Butler insists. 

Mrs. Winchester is reportedly doing well so Mr. Butler returns the staff to their duties. It is short-lived. Only fifteen minutes pass before the dishes begin to rattle again. Strange indeed. Miss Jones runs in, apologizing for her haste and breathlessness before reporting, “Flowers in Winter, sir. The flowers are blooming.” 

“Pardon?” Mr. Butler follows her outside where he finds the ludicrous truth. Flowers that have months before they should be poking through the surface of the Earth are all in full bloom, colors popping all over the grounds. 

“What do you suppose is happening?” Miss Jones asks. Mr. Butler straightens his coat and forces himself to stand taller, more confident. He is not troubled. Mildly shocked, but he can handle this. 

“I am sure I have no idea,” he answers because there is nothing else to say. He returns to the drawing room to find Mr. Winchester is no longer there. “Where is Mr. Winchester?”

“He went upstairs to check on Mrs. Winchester,” Miss Clarke answers. “I asked if we should send for a doctor or for her mother, but they both refused outright any assistance. She has been brought to bed.” 

Mr. Butler would love to be able to track just how long it took before the next curiosity, but every clock and stopwatch on the premises had failed to function simultaneously. The next time the manor shakes, every book is jostled from its resting place on the shelves. Dishes crash to the ground. Chandeliers sway and jangle. 

Mr. Butler had tried to coerce Mr. Winchester out of the room they had prepared for Mrs. Winchester’s trial, but Mr. Winchester had only emerged to say, “I’m not leaving her side. That is my wife and that is my daughter and I won’t be outside of this room waiting to find out if they’re okay.” 

“Mr. Winchester!” Mr. Butler calls as he makes his way up the stairs, gripping the banister for dear life as he continues to hear objects falling. He does hope they are alright. He cannot help the panic that makes his heart hammer wildly. 

“We’re fine! Everything is fine!” Mr. Winchester yells. “Is everyone okay?” he asks, standing in the doorway. His waistcoat and coat are both missing, his sleeves rolled up and tie loose. He is a man undone. 

“Everyone is accounted for and safe, sir,” Mr. Butler answers with a swift nod.

“Can someone get us towels? I saw this once. I need towels? And hot water.” 

“Certainly, sir. Are you absolutely sure you don’t require Mrs. Novak’s assistance?” Mr. Butler is itching to send for her immediately, but Mr. Winchester shakes his head furiously. 

“Do not, under any circumstances, call Mrs. Novak or a doctor,” he warns. His eyes are bright and determined. It leaves no space for questions to be raised or objections voiced. 

“Yes, sir,” Mr. Butler says, turning to walk back down the stairs to have Miss Clarke retrieve the towels while Miss Green, the cook, boils water. The windows are white. Mr. Butler ignores this and goes to find Miss Green and Miss Clarke. “Collect towels and bring them upstairs to Mr. and Mrs. Winchester at once,” he tells Miss Clarke when he finds her trying to sweep up the broken dishes. “Miss Green? Boil some water and have Miss Clarke take it up when it is ready.”

“Mr. Butler,” Mr. Evans says in a shaky voice. Mr. Butler turns to find that the errand boy is covered in snow. “There’s a blizzard, sir.”

“Pardon me?” Mr. Butler follows the boy out of the kitchen to a window in the foyer. This area has not seen snow as long as Mr. Butler has lived. The temperature just never seemed to drop quite enough for such an occurrence and if it did, it was a light dusting of white that melted off by midmorning. What Mr. Butler sees now is a full blizzard, snow falling rapidly in big puffy flakes. The grass he had just been looking at is covered with a thick sheet of snow. The flowers are being buried. 

There is a scream from upstairs, a howl of pain from Mrs. Winchester. As soon as her cries are heard, lightning strikes. Mr. Butler does not jump, but he does feel that perhaps he is less prepared than he had previously thought. 

As he makes his way through the house and back to the kitchens, he hears the distinct sound of a fire catching. Every fireplace is suddenly roaring, every candle glittering. He hears Miss Clarke fall to her knees and begin prayer. 

Perhaps this is a bad dream brought on by some bad food. He could just be parched and in need of a glass of water but unable to wake from such a vivid dream. If it is not a dream, Mr. Butler is far from sure of if this situation he finds himself in calls for a doctor or a priest. 

He is starting to feel dizzy and lightheaded. There is no warning or slow onset of these symptoms. Mr. Butler braces himself against a wall and swallows hard. Miss Green is in the kitchen casting up her accounts into what he hopes is a bucket. A crash of thunder strikes in unison with another bolt of lightning and another howl from Mrs. Winchester. Mr. Butler sags against the wall and blinks heavily before righting himself and taking a few ill-placed steps. 

“Tis the end of times,” Miss Clarke mutters, her lips pressed to her rosary and her eyes squeezed shut. 

“Mr. Winchester?” Mr. Butler calls, walking past Miss Clarke’s meltdown and half-crawling up the stairs. “We need a doctor,” he attempts, voice weak.

“We need a priest!” Miss Clarke shrieks before starting in on her prayers again. 

Mrs. Winchester screams and the chandeliers burst, the glass raining down. Mr. Butler covers his head with his arms as he attempts to remain unscathed by the flying shards. “Oh no,” he breathes. “Mr. Winchester!” He pushes himself up and runs to the door. The door is locked. “Mr. Winchester!”

“Everything is fine! Get everyone downstairs! Make sure you’re all safe! Go, Jeeves! Now!” Mr. Winchester yells through the locked door. Mr. Butler turns around. With how dizzy he is, he is not entirely sure how he is going to make it down the staircase. 

“Miss Clarke, retire to your quarters immediately and tell anyone you pass that it’s an order for everyone,” Mr. Butler says from the top of the stairs, his hand tight on the railing. She nods and gets up from the floor, running from sight. 

He cannot leave. Between his severe light-headedness and his inability to go far from the Winchesters, Mr. Butler remains at the top of the stairs, sitting on the floor as he leans against the wall. 

As swiftly as the symptoms had begun, they cease to trouble him. The snow has stopped falling outside. Mr. Butler stands, his head clear enough, and stands at attention, waiting for news. All he can hear are muffled murmurs. Still, his heart does hammer for he does not yet know if Mrs. Winchester and her child are well. 

There is a soft click of the door unlocking and Mr. Winchester appears, a broad smile across his face. “I have a baby girl,” he says in a soft voice. “Jeeves, I’m a dad.” 

“Congratulations, sir,” Mr. Butler says. Before he can bow his head, Mr. Winchester has thrown his arms around him. Mr. Butler hugs him back, unsure of what else to do. This marks their second hug and it is just as mystifying and confusing as the first, but Mr. Butler would not exchange this feeling for anything. 

Mr. Winchester releases him and goes back into the room without a word. Mr. Butler goes to the door he had left ajar and finds the Winchesters cuddled together on the bed, a bundle wrapped in Mr. Winchester’s arms as his wife rests her head on his shoulder. They look as in love and content as they have ever been. There are no signs of the day’s trials or pains besides the exhaustion that pulls at Mrs. Winchester’s eyelids. 

Mr. Butler steps away and turns back to the mess that is the entire manor. He rights his coat and walks down the stairs that shine with specks of glass. Before going to let the staff know their jobs and that they are all safe to leave their quarters to resume work, Mr. Butler walks through the house to assess the damage. Glass covers most surfaces and books litter the floor. The fires in the fireplaces have gone from their roaring to the usual small crackling. All of the candles are melted all the way down into the candlesticks, solid wax frozen mid-spill to display small fountains of drips that will never actually drop. The pianos are all intact, though they too are dusted with glass. Paintings are skewed on the walls. A few of them have fallen to the floor. The silverware in the kitchen has all melted and fused back together in a smooth, shined block of silver that resembles nothing of what it used to be. 

Mr. Butler makes a mental list of what needs to be done quickly and quietly as he makes his way through the servant’s quarters. He knocks on the doors, handing out their new tasks for the day as he goes. Miss Clarke is still praying when he opens her door. 

“Tis the spawn of the devil, sir,” she says, eyes wide with fear. “The end has come to us!”

“Some bad weather and tremors,” Mr. Butler says. “There is much to do now, Miss Clarke.” She nods and kisses her rosary before finally leaving her room. 

Everyone sets to work and Mr. Butler returns to check on the Winchesters before joining the others. Mrs. Winchester is asleep while Mr. Winchester sings softly. 

“Is there anything you require, sir?” Mr. Butler asks quietly. Mr. Winchester looks up at him.

“Come here,” he whispers, moving to the edge of the bed. Mr. Butler steps into the room and goes to him. “Meet Samantha Cassiel Winchester,” Mr. Winchester says, passing her into Mr. Butler’s arms. 

“Sir…” Mr. Butler has never held something so precious before, and he had been entrusted with many priceless artifacts. 

“Just hold her for a second,” Mr. Winchester says. 

Mr. Butler looks down into the sleeping face of the newest member of the Winchester family and feels his heart swell. She is peaceful and beautiful. Little round cheeks rosy and healthy. Her small lips parted as she lets out a small sigh in her sleep. She has her mother’s dark hair already. She is perfect.

When he looks back up, Mr. Winchester has fallen back against his pillows. His eyes have closed and his breathing is deep and even. 

“Samantha Cassiel Winchester,” Mr. Butler whispers as he goes back to looking down into her sleeping face. “We’ve only just met and you have me wound around that tiny little finger of yours. Jeeves, at your service, little miss.” 

He walks to her bassinet that is placed near Mrs. Winchester and gently lowers Samantha into it. She doesn’t wake, her hard work for the day complete. He takes the soiled linens and bucket from the room as he goes, allowing the family to finally rest.


	17. Chapter 17

Time passes differently when there’s a newborn calling the shots. The three of them exist in a small bubble of new routines. Samantha’s cries don’t cause any damage surprisingly. After the chaos of her birth, Dean had been expecting worse from her hungry cries, but nothing breaks. There are no quakes. There are just her small cries which cease the second Cas can feed her. 

“I didn’t know,” Cas whispers as she feeds their daughter, looking down in amazement. 

“You didn’t know what?” Dean asks, pressing a kiss to her temple, just as entranced as Cas. 

“I didn’t know I could feel like this, Dean. I didn’t know I could love so fully. I didn’t know that Heaven would forbid such a feeling. That I could fall in love with you at all let alone feel it more powerfully with every passing day and then this new love… This new and completely different love comes into my life and that I have the capacity to feel it. I didn’t know, Dean.”

“You,” Dean says, “are allowed to feel. You are allowed to love. And you do.” He doesn’t feel like he has a way with words the way she does, but he can show that he feels the same by nuzzling against her. “I didn’t know either. Not all of it. But I’m so happy it’s you and I’m so happy it’s her.” 

Cas looks up at him, her blue eyes swallowing him whole as she smiles. Tears are threatening to spill. When they do, he wipes them gently with his thumb and kisses where they had been before pressing another to her lips. 

“Dean,” she breathes. 

“Cas,” he answers just as softly. 

Cas is still recovering from giving birth. Her grace, while still powerful, is recharging. She eats to feed Samantha and she sleeps to recharge. Cas is asleep, her hair sprawled across the pillows and the blankets pulled up around her. Dean still isn’t used to it, but he loves how serene she is. Samantha wakes from the sleep she’d succumbed to milk-coma style and gives a pitiful cry. 

“Sh, sh.” Dean picks her up carefully and leaves the room so Cas can get the much-needed sleep. Her whimpers turn into a full cry and he keeps walking, bouncing her gently as he goes. He doesn’t know when he got comfortable enough with this place that he could walk blindly, looking into his daughter’s face as he wanders through the halls to make sure not to wake Cas. 

There’s a nursery set up not far from their room for when she’s older. A rocking chair is in the corner, but besides that and the larger crib, there is just an open room ready for the influx of toys and the future first steps. Dean steps into the room as Samantha lets out a wail. 

“Aw, it’s okay, baby girl,” he coos as he walks her in circles. “Daddy’s here. I know. I know, it’s so upsetting. It’s awful. Cry it out, Sammy. Daddy’s got you.” He pats her gently as he sways slowly. She opens her big green eyes and looks up at him like he’s the only thing in the world. “There’s my girl,” he smiles. When he stops talking, her cries begin again. 

“Alright, okay,” he says. “I’ll tell you a story. I’ll tell you about your uncle.” It’s still a stab through his heart that Sam isn’t here to see this half-angel who has his heart. “I think you’d like him. I’ve never seen him with kids really but he’s a teddy bear. Kind of a sasquatch, but the cuddly kind. His hair is way too long. That boy needs a haircut, let me tell you. He, uh… Well… When people tell you that you are born to do something, you can remember him. He was raised a hunter. He was given demon blood. He was supposed to be this monster to lead Hell to victory. He was supposed to have some kind of horrible ending. Did he?” Dean kisses Samantha’s forehead and smiles. “No. He tried joining soccer teams and boy scouts. He got straight A’s in school when I dropped out. He went to college. The college even paid for him. That’s kind of a big deal, little lady. He was going to be a lawyer.” 

Samantha is calm, gazing up at Dean as he continues to walk in circles. He is in love with the way she makes him feel. He feels powerless to her. He would do anything for her. 

“I don’t think he would be able to believe it if I told him I was a dad now,” Dean says quietly. “You turned my world upside down. Well. Mommy did that first. So maybe things are rightside up again? Is that how it works? Whatever.” 

“Sam was the first baby I ever held. I was only four years old and I still remember it. They had me sit next to Mom and helped me hold Sam. I was proud to be his big brother. Always have been no matter how much we fought. I was proud of him for every shaky first step he took and every syllable he sounded out. I never stopped bein’ proud of that kid. From the first A he brought home to the moment he told me he was applying to law school. I will be proud of you for everything. Every little thing. Every hiccup. Every tiny sigh. I don’t know how I’ll make it through hearing you babble out Momma and Dadda. Or the first giggle. Every giggle will bring me to my knees, baby girl.”

“Oh, Dean,” Cas breathes from the doorway. Dean looks up and sees her in her robe, her eyes glinting as she watches them. 

“Mommy’s up,” Dean says.

Cas is on the sofa, Samantha nestled in her blankets on her lap so they’re facing each other. Dean is playing the piano, glancing over his shoulder at them. Dean still doesn’t like his singing voice, but it’s one of the ways he shows his comfort and love. Even if he doesn’t realize it, he shows his tender heart with his soft songs sung over the melodies he pulls from his future. 

“ _I could stay awake just to hear you breathing, watch you smile while you are sleeping while you’re far away dreaming_ ,” he sings. Cas looks from her daughter’s green eyes to her husband’s. “ _I could spend my life in this sweet surrender. I could stay lost in this moment forever. Oh, every moment spent with you is a moment I treasure_.” He chose this moment. This time period. This life. For her. “ _Don’t want to close my eyes. I don’t want to fall asleep ‘cause I’d miss you, baby. And I don’t want to miss a thing._ ” 

Samantha’s eyelids droop as she’s lulled to sleep by her father’s voice. The voice he doesn’t know Cas would give anything to hear every moment of every day. Cas wonders what becomes of their baby girl in the future. Dean has probably never met her. He’s never accidentally spoken of her. Perhaps she and Samantha keep it a secret from him to not spoil his future for him. She smiles a little at the thought of it. 

“I love you, Samantha,” Cas whispers. “I’m not like Daddy. I do not know how to nickname people. What would I call you other than perfect? What other word besides your beautiful name encapsulates what you mean to me? What single word could possibly hold it all? Tell me, my nephilim of Thursday. Tell me, my darling girl.” 

“I’m not great with nicknames,” Dean objects. Their preferences for the way the other looks has indeed impacted how they dress around the house. Dean rarely bothers with a coat anymore unless he’s actually cold. He still wears the waistcoat, but his sleeves are rolled up casually, his forearms exposed as he spills forth his heart on the piano.

“Who called me Cas?” Cas asks, tilting her head. Dean’s cheeks turn pink. Surely, he has to know how the name changed everything. He must know that even within her, the name Cas is a home now. 

“I gave you that name years ago,” he mumbles. 

“I have had it for nearly one year and hold it close to my heart,” she answers. “It holds every  _ I love you _ you wish to speak. And I hear it every time you use it.” 

“I do love you,” he says, his smile lopsided and adorable. “Cas.”

“Dean.” His name in her mouth is a love letter. She may not have a nickname for him, but she knows for sure that he hears the true meaning. She can see it in the way his eyes soften, his lips twitch into a smile, and his entire being seems to relax, comfortable and protected. “I love you.”

Dean had many roles in his life, but he had thought that instead of husband and father, he would be uncle. He had been the big brother who raised his little brother when his father couldn’t. He had been the disobedient son who had dared to believe in his brother’s dreams and wishes all while still clinging to his own. His own had been beaten away, bruises and cracked bones replacing each one. He had been the soldier, savior, miracle worker. He had been fake FBI, CIA, Homeland Security, Therapist, Teddy Bear Doctor, that list went on for years. He had been so many things. And yet... 

When Dean had seen his brother in the dim light of that dingy student housing complex and Jessica Moore had joined him, Dean’s heart sank. He was making a mistake in dragging his brother back into the life. He knew he had made a mistake because he could see the future in her eyes. Sam’s future of a big house, a few children, and a big dog. Dean’s future of holiday visits where he’s called Uncle Dean and takes the little ones for rides in his Impala. What was it about Winchester men and their blue-eyed loves? 

It’s what Dean thinks about as he holds Samantha close so Cas can paint her. Hanging on the wall behind Cas is the charcoal drawing of Dean, his arms crossed loosely and legs stretched out, a discarded top hat beside him. 

“Would you paint what your true form looks like?” Dean asks. She pauses to consider it. Her hair is pulled away from her face with a paintbrush stuck through it to keep it there and she still manages to be stunning. 

“Maybe you would like to,” she teases. “I have yet to see your own artistic skill beyond the doodles when you grew bored of research.” 

“It’s nonexistent,” he says. “I can doodle, draw sigils, and make demon traps. I can’t paint the most awe-inspiring and beautiful true form I ever saw.”

“Maybe I will paint a self-portrait one day, but not yet.” It’s enough. He grins and readjusts Sammy in his arms. “Mother and Isabel wish to visit.”

“Was that what your letter was this morning?” he asks, glancing up. 

“Yes. They say that now is the perfect time. The snow has cleared and the fear or more tremors has dissipated. I do have to write back to tell them no.” They’re still hiding the fact that Samantha has even been born. She’s a month old, but no one knows. They all think that Cas won’t be giving birth until April. 

“It would be insane if we were on vacation right now, wouldn’t it?” 

“It would be ill-advised,” Cas says with a nod. “If I say either of us is ill, they would worry a great deal. We cannot be on holiday. I do not wish to deceive them and Isabel would love to meet Samantha, but it is still much too early.” 

“We could say my family is visiting?” Dean offers, his mind still on how different his life is. That if Sam were here, he would be an uncle and absolutely in love with little Sammy. 

“That would probably alarm them as you informed everyone that your family is dead, darling,” Cas says without hesitation which makes Dean laugh. “It is true that they failed to outright ask to visit. It was just heavily implied. I could ignore it and respond to the rest of the letter.” 

“Way to bury the lead, Cas,” Dean smiles. 

“Dean?” Cas’ voice wakes him in the middle of the night. He sits up immediately, ready to jump into action to protect his family, his home. “Shh, it’s okay,” she says, resting her hand on his arm. 

“What’s goin’ on?” he asks, blinking away the sleep as he tries to make out her features in the dark. 

“What if I’m doing all of this terribly?” she looks down at Samantha, who appears to be half asleep as she takes in her midnight snack. “I have never cared for a child. No one has seen a nephilim in ages. What if I was never meant to be a mother?” 

“Cas…” Dean sits up and wraps an arm around her before kissing her cheek. “You are doing great. You are a fantastic mom. I would thank you to stop talking about my wife like that,” he adds lightly. She nods and looks over at him. He wishes he could see the blue, but it’s too dark to see much of anything besides the glint to tell him her eyes are open. “I don’t think any parent really knows what they’re doing. But I do think we’re doing a pretty decent job together. She’s happy and healthy and that’s really all we can ask for, I think.” 

“How are you so sure and unafraid, Dean Winchester?” she breathes.

“I’m not,” he says seriously. “I’m terrified, but I’m also… I don’t know. I guess I’m proud of us and believe in us and I can’t keep worrying that I’m a total fuck up when I look into her eyes and she looks at me like that, you know?” 

“You’re scared too?” she whispers.

“Hell yeah, I’m scared.” He kisses her gently, feeling her lips part with his. A soft, deep kiss that lingers between them and he hopes is reassuring or boosting for her. 

“Thank you,” she says when their kiss ends. “I’m sorry I woke you.”

“Are you kidding?” He shakes his head. “I’d do anything to be able to stay awake all night with you two.” As it is, he is the only human in the room. He yawns and sinks a little lower. “I’m here for you whenever you need me.” He doesn’t care if it’s night or day. She can wake him up or interrupt anything at any point so he can fight off her worries and protect her with reassuring words and sweet kisses. 

“You’re falling asleep,” she says quietly. 

“Mm…” 

“Goodnight, love.” 

Samantha is three months old and loves when Dean dances with her. Cas is playing the piano and singing as Dean pretends to teach Sammy how to dance just as Cas had taught him. She’s flat against his chest, her head over his shoulder and his hand pressed to her back as he does a slow waltz for her. 

“Oh, look,” Dean says, turning so Samantha can see him. “It’s Jeeves. Say hi to Uncle Jeeves,” Dean says, lifting one of her hands to make it wave. 

“Hello, little miss,” Jeeves says. “Sir, Madam.” 

“I think she wants to see you.” Dean turns back around to face Jeeves.. “Do you want to see Uncle Jeeves? Do you?” He lifts her from his shoulder and gives her a kiss. She smiles a little bit like she’s been practicing doing and Dean’s heart melts. “Here you go.” 

Jeeves takes Samantha easily and smiles down into her adorable little face. He had once tried to convince Cas and Dean to hire a nanny. They had refused for multiple reasons, one being fairly obvious to no one but Dean and Cas. They can’t just hire some random person to take care of a nephilim baby. They also don’t want to watch someone else raise their child. Jeeves seems to be smitten though and he takes her whenever Dean and Cas need him to. 

“She will probably need a nap very soon, Mr. Butler,” Cas says as she’s pulled from the room by Dean. Her giggles follow them out of the room and up the stairs to their bedroom. 

The door closes behind them and Cas shoves Dean onto the bed before climbing on top of him and kissing him roughly. Her teeth bite into his lip as his hands pull her closer. The first time they had sex after Samantha was born was Dean’s birthday at the end of January. They’d gone slowly, gentle with each other. This is opposite, heated. 

“Wait,” Dean gasps when she pulls down his pants. He had never thought he would say that in a million years. She pauses, squinting in silent question, her cheeks flushed with color. “What happens if you get pregnant again?”

“Then… I suppose… we would have more nephilim children…” she says slowly. 

“We’re going to have a horde of nephilim children,” Dean sighs, his head falling back. 

“We could always do other things…” He doesn’t look up, his arm over his face. He feels her hand circle his dick and then her tongue slides up the shaft. 

“Oh fuck,” he groans. Her lips lock around his tip before moving down. He’s filling her mouth, her lips nearing the base. “How long is this going to last before you want me inside of you? Because I’m already there.”

“Approximately two minutes past,” she says. He can’t help but laugh. 

“I don’t think we’re gonna make it. I mean. We had sex on a piano when I just wanted to say hi.” 

“And last week during naptime,” Cas reminds him, crawling back up on top of him. 

“And I want you very badly right now,” he says, pulling her gently down so they can kiss again. 

“And it is naptime,” she whispers against his lips. He lowers her hips and slides into her. Both of them let out a soft gasp. 

“We’re going to have so many nephilim children,” Dean groans. She grinds her hips against his, driving him deeper. Their kisses are as feverish as she starts to ride him, leaving no room for build up. One of her hands finds his, their fingers lacing together to grip each other tightly as she lets out a moan. 

When her hips slow, Dean thrusts into her from under her. She whimpers, lowering her face into his neck and sucking just above his collar. “Harder,” she begs. He pounds harder, driving deeper, her small noises pushing him closer and closer. 

“If I keep going, I’m gonna come,” he breathes, swallowing hard. She rocks her hips in protest.

“Keep going. Fill me. Come with me.” She kisses his jaw, her teeth scraping against his stubble as she makes her way back to his mouth. It doesn’t take him long. She feels and sounds too good. Her panted breaths, her legs straddling him tightly. She’s hot and his dick is slathered in her come. His mouth is filled with her tongue. He moans into her mouth as he fills her. She rewards him by planting herself firmly against him. 

“Cas,” he gasps. 

“Dean,” she says softly in that way that drives him crazy. When he’s finished, she rolls off of him to the side and pulls his face to hers again. 

“This. This is why they gave you a different room, isn’t it?” He laughs a little and she smiles. 

“Most likely,” she admits. “Do you want more children?”

“I don’t see how we can avoid them considering our very recent conversation on the matter. Also, the one we have is pretty great, don’t you think?” Cas strokes his face gently, a dreamy look in her eyes. “Do you?”

“I hadn’t thought about it,” she whispers. “We couldn’t possibly raise ten nephilim children.”

“I said more, not ten,” Dean points out. “But you have a point. We probably will end up with ten children at this rate. I’m not against it.”

“Little babies with Dean Winchester green eyes,” Cas sighs. 

“Yep. We’re going to have to raise a small army of children if you keep looking at me like that.” He kisses her again and sits up to pull on his pants. “We’re screwed.” 


	18. Chapter 18

Dean is singing their song as they snuggle close on the sofa. Samantha is cradled between them, sleeping soundly. Spring is starting outside, the air warming just a little. The flowers that had bloomed for Samantha’s arrival are budding again. Cas leans her head on Dean’s shoulder and he rests his cheek against her. He turns the ring on his finger and smiles a little. 

Suddenly, Samantha lets out a wail that could probably make Dean’s ears bleed. “No!” Cas yells as Dean covers his ears. 

“What’s going on?” he yells over the screams. “Samantha…” Cas pulls her into her arms and looks at Dean, her blue eyes wide. 

“They know. They’re coming.” 

“Angel radio?” 

“I don’t know what that means!” They get up and run to the hiding spot they’d made for Samantha. It’s a small room near the servant’s quarters. In the closet, they’d drawn angel wardings and built a crib for her. Cas can’t enter so she hands their daughter to Dean and he eases Samantha into her cozy blankets. The wardings don’t seem to bother her. They had tested them with her before deciding to cover the room in them and there had been no reaction. Now, they look like they’re melting off the walls as she screams. 

“I don’t know if this is going to hold,” Dean says, stepping back even though he only wants to reach out and hold her close. He wants to hug her and kiss her tears away as he tells her how much he loves her. 

“It’s the only thing we have,” Cas says. Her voice is desperate and he pulls her against him, kissing the top of her head as she clings to him. “We have to go.” They step out of the room and Cas’ hands glow blue as she locks and hides the door. 

“Come on.” 

“It hurts. I can’t leave her!” Cas says as Dean has to pull her away. He doesn’t know when he started crying, but he can feel a tear drip from his chin. 

“I know. I know. Come on.” She follows him away from the door, her hand tight in his. He can feel his heart breaking. 

The servants are all gone. He’d sent them away for a holiday in preparation for this fight. Balthazar had warned them in his letter that their time was probably up in April and had banked on it. They had practiced their fighting, Cas swirling her angel blade with practiced hands. Dean had found holy oil and planned on using it. He has sigils memorized and a blade at the ready for him to use. 

“Are we ready?” Dean asks, grabbing his dagger. 

“We can do this,” Cas says, though she looks as broken as he feels. 

“I have arrived!” Balthazar calls from the foyer. They both run to meet him. The house feels entirely too quiet and dim. He hasn’t changed at all. He tosses his top hat away and opens his arms with a flourish. “Hello, darling.” 

“Balthazar,” Cas greets. “How long do we have?”

“Not long. Not long at all.” He looks around as if assessing the place as the battleground it’s about to become. “Do tell me, what color are her eyes? Blue or green?” 

“Green.” Cas’ voice cracks and Dean’s hand on hers tightens. 

“It’ll be alright. We can fight them.” Balthazar nods like he truly believes this. 

“Why are you here first?” Dean asks.

“Oh, they’re cross with me. They did find out that I knew the entire time and had been keeping them busy for the duration. Naomi did not take the news well.” He grimaces. “We would have been here sooner if I hadn’t fought them off for a few months.” He winces as he takes a step. He’s already been fighting a group of angels for literal months. He’s injured and the only other angel on their side. “Where is that butler of yours?”

“We sent the staff away. There’s no point in innocent people getting hurt,” Dean says as they walk out of the foyer. He’s rarely ever waited for a fight to come to him especially at his home. His stomach is turning, his heart is breaking, and the only thing he can hold onto for balance is Cas’ steady hand. 

“I have to tell you something,” Dean says urgently, pulling Cas close to him. She looks up into his eyes and nods. “If this goes sideways, I need you to remember this. In 2008 you’re going to rescue me from Hell, alright? Your vessel is Jimmy Novak. He will say yes and you can meet me again, okay? If I don’t get to say it again, I love you. More than anything, I love you. So find me in 2008.” She throws her arms around him, squeezing tight. 

“I love you, Dean Winchester.”

When the doors burst open, Dean isn’t prepared. He will never be prepared. There is no pausing of footsteps, they know exactly where Dean and Cas are. He’s surprised to see Naomi. It’s the only face he recognizes. She had been at the battle with Sam and Cas. The battle that had sent him here. 

“Good to see you’re alive and well, Castiel,” Naomi says coldly. 

“I can’t say I feel the same,” she says venomously. Her angel blade is already in her hand, daring them to fight. 

“We can be done with this and the human if you just tell us where the nephilim is. All of this can be fixed.” 

“Fuck you,” Dean snarls. 

“Oh look, the hairless ape can speak. What other tricks did you teach it?” one of the others asks. 

“Give us the nephilim!” Naomi orders. 

“I would rather die a thousand deaths,” Cas says through her teeth. Naomi closes her fist and Dean feels his ribs crunch, his entire chest constricting. He gasps which leads to more pain. His lungs can’t expand. He falls to the floor, doubling over. 

“Will you watch him die a thousand deaths? He’s marked too. How  _ cute _ .” Naomi’s fist tightens and Dean groans. “Tell me where the nephilim is.  _ Now, Castiel.”  _

“No,” Dean and Cas say together. Dean isn’t sure who makes the first move but he’s fairly sure it’s Balthazar. There’s a flash of silver. Cas has left his side and Dean pushes himself up, his insides still being squeezed. 

“Down, boy,” a man says, grabbing Dean’s collar. Dean punches and frees himself briefly as he reaches for his knife. It’ll do nothing more than slow him, but it’s all he can do for the time being. He swings and manages to plunge the knife through the angel’s hand before a fist cracks across his jaw. 

The pressure on Dean’s chest releases, but it’s short-lived. The man pulls the knife from his hand and punches Dean again, this time making Dean fall to the floor. He punches, but it doesn’t have the same effect. He wishes he had an angel blade, but it sounds like the two that are on his side are in use.

“Humans are pathetic,” he says. “What could Castiel ever see in you?” Dean isn’t sure what just happened but he’d gone to swing another punch and felt his arm being pulled back. The strain on his shoulder is alarming. It might snap. He takes in a sharp breath. “Tell us where your abomination is and all of this ends.” 

“You don’t understand simple English do you?” Dean spits. “No. Never. Fuck off. Go home. No.” A boot to his already hurt ribs shoots pain through him. He can take this as long as it gives Cas and Balthazar a fighting chance. With this asshole focused on Dean, the fight is two to three. 

“She may have marked you, but you will be nothing to her after this. Humans exist in the blink of an eye. It’s a blip. A speck. You will never mean anything to her.” 

“You’re wrong,” Dean says through a bloody smile. “You have never been more wrong.” He feels a rib crack and cries out. He’s sure by this point that he probably looks like a horror movie extra straight out of their makeup trailer. He can taste the blood in his mouth. The fists are coming faster now. He can take it. As long as she’s safe, he can take it. 

“Dean!” Cas screams. He turns his face and opens his eyes. She’s being held back by a woman he doesn’t recognize. 

“It’s okay,” he says, his voice thick. His jaw feels bad. Like it’s not attached on one side. “Cas…” 

“Dean!” she screams again, pulling hard as she tries to go to him. 

“We can do this,” he says. He’s not sure where Balthazar is. Tears are streaming down Cas’ face as she shakes her head. “Cas. We can. We’re family. She needs you. I need you.” He remembers saying it to Cas once a very long time ago. Back in a dusty crypt when Naomi had been pulling strings again. It had been those words that had pulled Cas out of whatever delirium they were in. 

“Let him go!” She screams, her eyes shining bright, wings visible as she uses everything she can to try to go to him. “You’re going to kill him!” 

“That’s the idea, Castiel. Tell us where it is or lose your dearest  _ thing _ .” 

“No!” Cas sobs. 

“I found the nephilim.” A stranger walks into the room holding Samantha. Her cries are loud and the sound tears Dean apart. 

“No!” Cas screams louder. 

“Let her go!” Dean yells, his jaw cracking. A swift kick to his stomach makes him throw up blood. 

“Good job, Uriel,” Naomi says. “Should we send this sorry excuse for our father’s creation to his own time period?” He’s not sure what causes it, Cas or Samantha, but all of the windows burst. He winces as stray pieces slice into him. Naomi leans down so her face is close to Dean’s. “See you in two hundred years, Winchester.” 

Dean opens his eyes. There is nothing above him but the night sky. His manor is gone. Samantha’s cries are gone. Cas’ screams and tears are missing. Dean rolls to his side and coughs, blood pooling on the pavement. 

After Dean had been hit by two spells at once, he’d vanished. Hopefully just outside where Cas had tried to send him. Sam quickly drew the banishing sigil and slammed his bleeding hand into it to buy them some time. 

“Where’s Dean?” Sam asks, panting. 

“He should be outside. Let’s go.” He leads the younger Winchester through the warehouse where their battle against many angels was taking place. More angels than Cas had even known to exist currently had shown up, making Team Free Will wildly underprepared. 

They get outside to the exact spot Cas had sent Dean. Cas’ heart plummets. Dean is there, curled up on the ground and barely breathing. Cas runs to him and falls to his knees beside him. It takes him a moment to notice that Dean isn’t wearing his jeans and jacket. Trousers and a waistcoat. 

“Dean!” He pulls him into his lap and touches his face gently, afraid he’s too late or doesn’t have enough juice left. He has enough to heal the punctured lung, broken bones, dislocated jaw, and most of the face lacerations. “Dean…” 

“Cas.” Dean’s voice breaks and he starts sobbing, curling into Cas’ arms. 

“Dean?” Sam asks, walking closer. 

“Samantha. What happened to her, Cas? Where is she? Sammy…” Cas’ heart stops and he shakes his head. “No,” Dean chokes. “Not my little girl. Not our girl, Cas!” 

“Dean…” Cas can feel himself shaking. Dean pulls Cas against him, sobbing into his shoulder. “She’s gone,” he says, his voice distant. “She’s gone.” 

“I love you,” Dean manages, his arms tight around Cas’ shoulders. “I love you,” he says again like it’s the only thing he has left in him. The tension in his arms doesn’t relax or prelude to any kind of detachment any time soon. 

“I love you,” Cas answers softly. “That’s where they sent you?” Dean nods, trying to pull in breaths now that he can’t speak anymore. Dean lets go long enough to dip his hand into a pocket. He comes out with a small painting. Cas remembers it well. He remembers painting it while Dean had held their baby, smiling, carefree, weightless. Her green eyes stare up through the painting, twisting Cas’ insides. He hasn’t seen her or the painting in two hundred years. 

“Guys?” 

Neither of them can answer. Dean hands it to Cas who holds it against his heart and looks up at Dean. He gently wipes Dean’s tears even though they’re still streaming. “Mr. Winchester,” he says quietly. 

“Mr. Winchester,” Dean answers. He attempts a smile, but his lips turn down and his shoulders quake. He takes a deep breath as Cas cups his jaw. Dean kisses him tenderly like he’s afraid to lose more. Cas wishes he could quell his worries. He won’t lose more. Not yet. Not in this moment. Not if Cas has anything to say about it. 

“Where is Naomi?” Dean asks when their lips part. Naomi did this. So much had happened that night. Through the torture, he’d somehow managed to forget Naomi was the one in charge of it all. 

“I’m going to kill her,” Cas says. He presses the painting back into Dean’s pocket as Dean clutches his lapels. “Go home with Sam. I’ll join you shortly. I promise, love.” 

“Cas!” Dean calls out, but Cas is already gone. 

Dean looks up and finally sees Sam. It’s been a year since he’s seen his brother. His hair looks longer somehow, but he knows that for Sam, no more than five minutes has passed. His eyebrows are turned up in the middle with confusion and worry. Dean wipes his hand down his face, trying to clear the tears and regain some composure, but his heart is shattered. 

“Dean, what’s going on?” Sam asks. Dean swallows hard. He doesn’t know what to say or how to say it so he clenches his jaw instead and pushes himself up. “Did you just kiss Cas? What are you wearing? How did you get so fucked up so fast? Did you just kiss Cas?” 

“Yes. Clothes, Sam. They’re called clothes. Angels are dicks. And yes.” His throat feels raw. Hell, everything feels raw. “It’s good to see you, Sam.” He hugs his brother tight, closing his eyes and patting his back once. Sam hugs back, but he feels hesitant with worry. Dean lets go, clearing his throat. “Where are my keys?”

“You don’t have your keys?” 

“Do I look like I’m wearing my pants that had my keys?” Dean asks. He walks over to Baby and runs a hand over her shining black exterior. “Oh, Baby. I’m so sorry I left. I’m back, sweetheart.” The keys are on the seat along with a silver ring he used to wear on his right hand. It’s weird, but he doesn’t question it, marking it off as angel mojo. 

Dean slips into his place behind the wheel, grabbing the keys and putting the ring on. He’ll give it to Cas later. The portrait in his pocket weighs a million pounds and is burning his skin through the layers of clothing. 

“Dean?” Sam is in the passenger seat, still looking unsure. 

When he turns the keys, the engine jumps to life with a roar and music is blaring. Dean jumps and turns it off quickly. A year of carriage rides and horse hooves, piano melodies and soft singing. His heart pounds and he angrily sets his jaw. 

“Are we going to talk about any of this?” Sam asks as Dean starts driving. 

“No.” Dean shakes his head. He knows he won’t be able to keep his mouth shut forever, but if he starts talking about it, he _ will  _ crash this car. His grip tightens on the wheel to cover how badly his hands are shaking. They fall silent and Dean lets the calm of driving wash over him. He lets the stretching road soothe his frayed nerves until he realizes he has no idea where he is for the first time in a long time. He’s driven across this country more times than he can count, but he has no idea where home is. “Sam?”

“Yeah?”

“Where are we?” He doesn’t know where or when they are. He’d let go of all of it almost a year ago. He remembers the fight. He remembers everything before the fight. He just has no idea of the specifics of this moment. Panic is rising in him, but with how shut down he currently is, nothing shows. 

“About an hour away,” Sam says warily. “How long have you been gone?”

“A year,” Dean answers through gritted teeth. He doesn’t want to talk about this. Sam doesn’t ask any more questions. He directs Dean with where to turn and how to get back to the Bunker. Besides his directions, the car ride is silent, the only noise louder than Sam is Dean’s pounding heart. 


	19. Chapter 19

Cas’ arms are wrenched behind her, an angel blade pressed to the small of her back. She twists and pulls, but they’re dragging her somewhere. Her head turns and her eyes land on Dean. He’s on the floor looking up at Ishim who is covered in Dean’s blood. 

“Dean!” Cas screams. His entire face is a mask of blood. His skin is already bruising and puffing up. His jaw is definitely broken. He turns his face and she can see deep cuts on his cheek, jaw, and forehead. 

“It’s okay,” Dean says. It sounds wrong. Like he’s talking through water and can’t move his mouth properly. His eyes are focused on her. Green and bright as ever, and trained on her like she’s the only one in the room. The only one in the world. “Cas…” He sounds like he can’t breathe. 

“Dean!” She cries, straining against Anna’s hold on her. Ishim punches him again but Dean doesn’t react beyond his eyelids fluttering. His breathing hitches. 

“We can do this.” His voice is strange. She’s clinging to every word even as she feels herself weeping. She doesn’t think they can. Balthazar is dead in the other room. He’d tried. He’d failed. Her best friend since creation is dead and she’s watching the love of her life follow suit. Cas shakes her head furiously as she lets out a sob. They can’t do this. “Cas,” Dean manages. “We can. We’re family. She needs you. I need you.” Her heart hammers. Ishim steps on Dean’s wrist. The bones crunch, but they were already broken from the sound of it. He winces but barely. He’s dying. 

“Let him go!” Cas begs. She can’t help the surge of panic that makes her wings unfold as she strains again, her feet sliding on the floor as she tries to run to him. His eyes swim in and out of focus. “You’re going to kill him!” 

“That’s the idea, Castiel,” Naomi says coldly. “Tell us where it is or lose your dearest  _ thing _ .”

“No!” Cas sobs, hanging limply by her arms as she stares at Dean. Maybe he doesn’t realize it, but he’s praying to her. He keeps repeating her name and she thinks that this is it. This is the moment Dean will die and she will have to hear every moment of it.  _ I can take it as long as she’s safe. As long as you’re safe. I love you. _ He’s saying goodbye whether he knows it or not. She can’t take it.

“I found the nephilim,” Uriel says as he walks into the room. In his arms is Samantha. She is wailing with all her might, sending daggers through Cas’ heart.

“No!” Cas screams. Her baby girl. A year ago, she didn’t know she could feel at all. Now, her love is used against her, filling her with anguish. 

“Let her go!” Dean yells, his jaw audibly cracking. Ishim draws back his foot and kicks Dean in the stomach as hard as he can. Cas watches as Dean immediately vomits blood onto the floor. 

“Good job, Uriel,” Naomi says. Cas would like nothing more than to smite the entire room. She can feel her energy building with anger and hurt. “Should we send this sorry excuse for our father’s creation to his own time period?” Cas lashes out. It does nothing to free her from Anna’s grip, but it does break every window. Glass sprays across the room and Cas burns hot with raw energy as she watches Naomi lean down toward Dean. “See you in two hundred years, Winchester.” 

Then...

Dean is gone. 

“No!” Cas feels as if her heart has been ripped from her. She’s prevented from doing much damage to Anna with the angel blade behind her. She wouldn’t care, but she knows that she has to stay alive to see Dean again. 

“You disobeyed,” Naomi says. “You disobeyed more than my orders. More than Heaven’s orders.” Cas is barely listening. All of her attention is on the sound of her baby’s cries. “Kill the vessel,” Naomi orders. 

Ishim grabs the knife that Dean had been using. This is the first time Cas has thought about Grace Novak in what seems like centuries. She had been weak, an hour from death probably. She had prayed and Cas had come to her call, trading her health for her body. Cas tries to back away from the blade.

“You don’t have to do this,” Cas begs. “Grace Novak did you no wrong!” 

“She was a vessel. Nothing more,” Naomi says flippantly. “And you called her parents Mother and Father. You grew attached to Isabel and James. You dared to care for that filth. They are not your family, Castiel.  _ I am. _ ” 

The blade cuts deep into her abdomen. She feels her lung rip. Blood pours from the wound as Ishim removes the knife. He aims higher this time. It enters her heart. If he had only stabbed, she might have been able to heal herself quickly enough, but he doesn’t. The knife twists and he rips through each atrium and valve. The aorta is ruined. The arteries severed. Cas chokes on the blood. Grace doesn’t make a sound as she dies. At least she didn’t have to feel it. At least she went in peace. 

“Are you finished?” Cas asks through her tears. 

“Far from finished, dear Castiel.” Her blood runs cold as she watches Naomi lift Samantha from Uriel’s arms. “Do you remember what you were sent here to do, Castiel?”

“Heaven is wrong,” she breathes, her eyes on Samantha. 

“You were sent here,” Naomi says loudly, “to stop such an abomination from existing. Not to create it.” 

“Heaven is wrong!” Cas yells. “She isn’t what they say! What  _ you _ say! She is beautiful and sweet and she…” She just started smiling. She just started learning how to smile. And now she is frowning, screaming at the top of her lungs. Cas feels broken. “She’s perfect. She is  _ love _ . She was made from love and that is all she does!” 

“She is a creature that was never meant to exist,” Naomi snaps.

“If she wasn’t meant to exist then why would God make it possible?” Cas shouts back. 

“Kill it,” Naomi orders. 

“NO!” 

_ The humans are not your friends. They are not your family. They will never be your family. Angels do not have free will. Angels are nothing more than soldiers of Heaven; soldiers for God.  _

When Cas is pulled from Grace’s body and brought to Heaven, they are limp, defeated, cold. They feel the cold reach of picks driven into them, attempting to reset the broken angel. They can no longer smile and they lock joy up with love, ready to feel it one day when they see Dean Winchester once again, but now is too fragile a time to feel them. Cas screams through most days. Hell is supposed to have a monopoly on torture and pain, but Cas would bet that Heaven could beat them out any day. 

Cas is made to believe that they were never loved. That they never learned the true meanings of the word because no one could ever love such a broken thing. Cas fights back. For years Cas fights back. But they wilt every day. They crack and fold. Their lights dim. Cas is forced to relive that moment. Their insides knot. They are powerless. Heaven is wrong.  _ Heaven is wrong. _

It’s one hundred years later when they test just how obedient their rogue angel is now after being tortured every moment until the point of acquiring the next vessel. She looks familiar. There’s a zap somewhere deep inside. She looks like no one Castiel has ever seen before. Her hair is dark and long, kept up neatly. Her eyes are blue and piercing. Her last name is Wilkes. Why does that sound familiar? Another stab. Another zap. Another fog. Castiel’s vessel is nothing more than that. They walk out of the home and go to find Ishim to kill the daughter of Lily Sunder. Castiel can feel their insides shrieking. They can feel the resistance. The disobedience. The hatred for Heaven. The love for a man not yet born and their innocent child. Castiel is numb to most, but nothing can take away their core. They are a broken angel and Heaven will always be wrong. A zap. A crippling scream from within. Memories of a century long torture. Heaven is right. It’s an order. It must be fulfilled. 

The first time Castiel allows themself to feel anything is when the angels have forgotten. To them, Dean Winchester had been nothing. He had been an insignificant detail. To Castiel, he is everything. So when Heaven announced that Dean Winchester had sold his soul, Castiel feels their entire being light up as if engulfed in flames. 

_ Find me in 2008. _

This Dean is fragile and young. He is unmarked by their vows. He is in pain. Castiel dives into Hell. It’s already too late by the time he’s allowed to plunge into the depths. Dean has shed blood in Hell, unleashing anger he has never seen in Dean. Castiel kills every demon in his path as he makes his way to his husband. When he grips his shoulders, he feels the agony within Dean. His soul is scorched and still tethered to Hell, looped on a chain so heavy Castiel has to break it. He uses everything in him to pull Dean up with him. His hands burn into Dean’s shoulders, a fresh scream ripping from Dean’s throat. 

_ Rescue me from Hell. _

Castiel feels his wings burning as he flies. He doesn’t scream. Physical pain has long since lost meaning even if a part of him wishes to join in Dean’s cries like they once had. He carefully rejoins Dean’s soul to his body that lies in a crudely made coffin. The body is destroyed. The chest is ripped to shreds by Hellhound claws. Castiel rests his hand over Dean’s chest for the first time in two hundred years and heals the wounds so he will have a fighting chance when he wakes. 

_ Your vessel is Jimmy Novak. _

Castiel has already found Jimmy Novak. He has been guiding him to the answer of yes for months. The moment Dean had sold his soul, Castiel had begun to poach his next suit. He is ready. Once he makes sure that Dean is safe, he can go make his request and take Jimmy Novak. 

_ “Come on,” _ Castiel urges Dean as he watches the gravesite.  _ “Dean.” _

Dean pushes through the Earth’s surface, gasping for air and shaking just enough for an angel to notice. He rolls onto his back and breathes for a moment, his eyes shut tight against the sunlight. When he opens his eyes, it sends a bolt of electricity through Castiel’s being. Green. The exact green that Castiel has been clinging to for two centuries. A green so cherished, it could unweave Castiel and leave him as a heap of celestial energy at Dean’s feet. 

Castiel watches with building excitement as Dean walks away from his grave. He’s wearing jeans, time having long replaced the trousers that he used to make fun of extensively. His jacket is without coattails and wrapped around his waist. His shirt is without buttons. There are no collars or cravats. There are no top hats or pocket watches. There is just Dean. 

Dean makes it to a gas station and punches through the glass. The glass of a manor shatters in the past. He chugs water, some of it spilling from his lips in his eagerness to rehydrate. It’s mundane. It’s purely human. It’s Dean so Castiel can’t look away no matter how ordinary the act. When Dean lifts the sleeve of his tight-fitting shirt to reveal Castiel’s mark, he sucks in a breath. Castiel does too. He had been marked like this once, his skin puffy and enflamed in the shape of Castiel’s hand.  _ Mark me.  _

_ “Dean, _ ” Castiel tries. Human languages escape him in this form, but maybe Dean will hear him.  _ “Dean!”  _ Castiel tries louder. “ _ Dean Winchester is saved!” _ Castiel screams. The glass shatters under Castiel’s true voice and sheer excitement. He is going to meet Dean face to face soon. They will be reunited. For now, Castiel has a vessel to check up on. 

“I invoke, conjure, and command you,” an unfamiliar voice speaks, “appear unto me before this circle!” 

“Who dares to summon Castiel?” Castiel asks though he knows that all of his anger comes from seeing her hand lined up with his handprint on Dean’s shoulder. Jealousy and rage mix together. All of the emotions that had been snuffed out are back with a vengeance. 

“Castiel?” the woman asks.

Dean looks up, recognition flickering in his eyes. Hope soars. He tries to tell the woman to let go of Dean. That she won’t be able to see him. “I demand you stop before you hurt him and yourself.” 

“No. Sorry, Castiel. I don’t scare easy.”

“Castiel?” Dean repeats.  _ Castiel _ he had breathed in a ballroom. Castiel is losing his grip. 

“Turn back. Don’t push further. I won’t be able to protect you,” Castiel warns her. He knows his heart is reaching for Dean, but he can’t get too close. Especially through her. She could die if she’s not careful. She doesn’t relent. And Dean is so close. He’s unwinding. He’s still broken. He’s failing Heaven. But Dean is here. He’s here. He’s within reach and Castiel’s being burns hot. 

The woman’s screams snap Castiel out of his spiral. He lost control. She pushed too far. He retreats quickly, preparing for his meeting with Dean. 

Dean is sleeping when Castiel is able to return. He is peaceful, a book open on his chest that rises and falls evenly. He looks just as he had. He used to fall asleep while reading, his legs stretched across their sofa. He called them naps. Castiel used to stroke his face gently and press kisses into his cheeks to wake him when it was nearing tea or dinner time. 

Castiel doesn’t mean to. The electronics are buzzing. Dean is scared. He holds his gun as if it’s an extension of his body and aims nowhere near Castiel at the door. 

“ _ It’s alright, love. It’s just me. I’m sorry,”  _ Castiel says. Dean covers his ears and drops to his knees as the glass begins to shatter above him. Castiel doesn’t know how to stop it. Glass rains down on Dean as Castiel screams for him. 

The adrenalin that Castiel now has with the vessel is pumping wildly. Excited, lovelorn energy rolls off of him, tearing at the barn, clearing his path. The doors fly open and lights explode, but Castiel can’t bother with that because it’s Dean. They’re finally back together. He’s here. He’s here. Dean. 

Bullets packed with salt hit Castiel in the chest. That’s wrong. He stares at Dean as he continues forward. Maybe he doesn’t recognize him. He has to know him. He heals the wounds as they’re inflicted. Why won’t he stop shooting?

“Who are you?” Dean demands. 

“I’m the one who gripped you tight and raised you from perdition,” Castiel tells him proudly.  _ Know me. Remember me.  _

“Yeah, thanks for that.” He doesn’t sound grateful. He sounds resentful and scared. He plunges a dagger into Castiel’s chest, the blade sinking into Jimmy Novak’s heart. He feels the blood that had spilled from his mouth once upon a time. He removes the knife and heals what he couldn’t heal for Grace Novak. 

“We need to talk, Dean,” Castiel says, hoping that maybe Dean will remember. He has to. Dean’s eyes flicker to the new Jeeves that Castiel had just sent to sleep. Though Mr. Butler would never wear such dirty clothing. He wouldn’t disgrace himself with a worn hat and grungy vest. “Alone.” 

“Who are you?” Dean asks again.

“Castiel,” Castiel says. It has to mean something. He’s waiting for it to mean something. It means nothing. This Dean doesn’t know him. This Dean doesn’t belong to him yet. This Dean doesn’t know that in his future he marries an angel and fathers a nephilim. He hasn’t lived through their pain. Is this still his torture? Is he still in Heaven waiting to be released? Is this what they’re doing to him to keep him in line? He wilts. 

“Castiel, how good to see you so soon,” Naomi says, contempt dripping from her voice. 

“I can’t say I feel the same,” Cas says. “It was you. You made me kill him hundreds upon thousands of times,” Cas breathes. “I lived with it because I had to and I broke free. But it was you then too.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Naomi says, feigning ignorance that they both know she has no right to. 

“You took my husband away after letting Ishim beat him nearly to death. You killed my daughter. You tortured me until I was nothing but a shell. You made me relive the loss for a hundred years. You did this to me. You did this to  _ him _ .” 

Cas towers over her, unrestrained rage building his grace up past what should be possible. Two pairs of green eyes flash in Cas’ mind.  _ We’re family _ . 

“You follow a heart that has no business feeling the way it does. Emotions are for humans. You knew that once.” 

“You follow Heaven’s orders blindly. I may feel, but it’s liberating to feel even a fraction of what humans do. You will never know it. You will never understand.” Cas watches Naomi shrink away from him, fear apparent. “ _ You did this _ .” 


	20. Chapter 20

Dean hasn’t had a shower in a year. He’d bathed in those weird tubs. He’d swam in his lake. He hadn’t had plumbing for a whole fucking year. He peels off his bloodstained clothes and looks down at his shoulder, wrapping his fingers around the scar. He steps into the hot water and lets it wash over him. He doesn’t want to be alone with his thoughts, but he doesn’t want to talk yet. He can’t take Sam’s puppy dog eyes or the questions he knows are coming next. He slams his fist into the wall. 

He washes the memories from his skin and scrubs the tearstains from his face. There’s not enough soap in the world to get rid of this feeling. He turns off the water and stands still, letting it drip from his body as the steamy air cools around him. 

Dean grabs his clothes from the floor and goes to his room, bundled up in a robe and towel. He changes quickly, itching to move and stay still all at once. He grabs a pair of boxer-brief from his drawer. Another thing he hasn’t worn in a year. He’s gone commando for a year. It’s the little things. A car starting, music playing, a pair of underwear that didn’t exist in the 1800s that has him reeling. He puts them on anyway before pulling on his black plaid pajama pants. He takes the first t-shirt in the drawer and kneels beside the heap of clothes on the floor. He pulls out the small portrait of his daughter and feels his heart leap into his throat. 

“I tried,” he says, his voice cracking. “I tried so hard to keep you safe.” His hand closes around it and he forces himself to get up. He has to face Sam someday. Might as well do it while his heart is raw and he can’t fucking breathe. 

The food that he smells does nothing but turn his stomach. He wants to ask Jeeves for some toast and coffee. Jeeves. He takes a shuttered breath and walks past the kitchen where Sam is obviously making food. 

“Dean?” Sam calls after him. “I made you bacon.”

“Not hungry,” Dean says as he makes his way to the library. Sam follows him and hesitates when Dean throws himself into a chair. “I have spent a year wanting to tell you everything and now that I’m back, I don’t know what the fuck to say,” Dean laughs without an ounce of humor. 

“Can I ask anything yet?” Sam asks, carefully sitting in the seat opposite Dean. Dean’s hand tightens on the picture of Samantha as he nods. “You and Cas?” 

“Startin’ easy,” Dean says, twisting his wedding ring. He sighs and looks up at Sam. “That happened before. We didn’t know how to tell anyone. I…  _ I _ didn’t know how to tell anyone.”

“You know I couldn’t be happier for you. Right?” Dean nods and clenches his jaw. It never should have been a secret. “How long? Since Amara?”

“Since, uh… Purgatory?” Dean winces. It’s really been four years. Sam nods, looking a little hurt but he doesn’t say anything. “We, uh… We got married…in uhm. In 1812.” 

“What?” The information isn’t processing for him, but why should it? “What’re you talking about?”

“I was fighting with you and Cas in 2016, right?” Sam nods, his eyes skeptical before Dean’s even really started the story. “Instead of wherever Cas was trying to send me when I almost got axed, Naomi interfered I guess. I woke up and I was wearin’ fuckin’ coattails, dude. And everyone was dancing.” He can see it clearly. The shimmering light from the candles. The dresses and top hats. Cas’ eyes across the room. “I didn’t know what the hell was going on, man. But Cas was there and she took my breath away.” 

“So you were in 1812 for a year…?” Sam asks slowly. Dean nods. 

“Well. Half. Made it to 1813.” He glances down at the picture in his hand and swallows hard. “I tried comin’ back. I did. But it wasn’t working. Cas was getting hurt. I was making myself sick. Nothing was working and…” And he had realized just how happy he was. He can’t say it. Not now. Not just after losing his pride and joy. 

“So you married Cas?”

“He did,” Cas says from the entrance. They both look up as Cas walks down the stairs and through the War Room to meet them. “We were married on the nineteenth of July in 1812 with the Novak family in attendance.”

“And a little one on the way,” Dean breathes, his eyes locked with Cas’. 

“You didn’t know that yet,” Cas says softly as he approaches. “And if memory serves…” He tilts Dean’s chin up, kissing him gently. “...you fainted when I told you.” Dean smiles even as he feels a tear escape, rolling down his cheek without permission. Cas wipes it away with his thumb. 

“Wait. You have a kid?” Sam asks. Dean turns to look as far from Sam as he can. No, he doesn’t have a kid. He  _ had _ a daughter. His hand releases the tight grip on the painting and Cas takes it carefully, no doubt handing it to Sam. 

“Her name was Samantha,” Cas says. “She was named for her uncle.” Dean is shaking. He gets up and walks away from the table, his hands clenched into fists. His nails bite into his palms. “Let him go,” he hears Cas say. Dean presses himself to the wall on the other side of the doorway so he can hear them without having to let either of them see just how broken he is. 

“I didn’t know angels could have kids,” Sam says. Dean can imagine Cas’ nod as he hears him sit in Dean’s recently abandoned seat. 

“The offspring of a human and an angel is a nephilim. They are intensely powerful, especially when, as we found out, they are conceived in love.” Dean sinks to the floor and lets out a choked sob. “The angels I was on Earth with then… She…” Cas draws in a breath. “It’s been two hundred years and it doesn’t get easier. For your brother, this happened only a few hours ago.”

“What happened, Cas?” 

“We tried hiding her, protecting her. She was only four months old.” Cas takes a deep breath and Dean takes one with him. “They came to our manor. Benjamin killed Balthazar. Ishim beat Dean to within an inch of his life. Anna held me back. Uriel found her.” It’s as if Cas was there only a moment ago with Dean. “My husband was suddenly gone. My vessel was brutally murdered. My daughter was killed in front of me and I was made to watch.” Fuck. Dean would give anything to be at Cas’ side right now so he could hold his hand. He didn’t know Cas had to watch. He doesn’t know how either of them are even still here. 

“Cas, I’m sorry. I had no idea.”

“Your empathy is appreciated, but I wouldn’t expect you to know. We never told you. Dean couldn’t until now and it seems he still can’t. He needs time. Although, it hasn’t helped me. I don’t know if the time would have been healing if I hadn’t been tortured, but I don’t think anyone ever stops grieving the loss of their child.” 

“You were tortured? After all of that?” Dean wants to ask Sam to stop. He wants to cover his mouth and tell him never to ask another question because Dean isn’t sure he can take the answer.

“Extensively,” is all Cas says, but it still drives a knife through Dean’s heart. “I don’t know when, if ever, he will be able to talk about this with you, but I’m going to go find him.” The chair scrapes against the floor as Cas pushes it in. 

“Right. Uhm. Cas?” Dean hears them hug, Sam patting his back before stepping away again. 

Cas walks out into the hallway and kneels in front of Dean. Their fingers lace together before Dean looks up into those blue eyes. Neither of them say anything. They’re both beyond words right now. Cas gently pulls Dean to his feet and pulls him against him. Cas’ heart is beating wildly despite his calm outward appearance. Dean can feel it jumping from Cas’ chest to his own, where his heart feels dead, still, damaged beyond repair.

When they part, Dean slips the ring from his right hand off. It’s the one he’s been wearing for most of his life. He doesn’t even remember when he started wearing it. He takes Cas’ left hand and slides it onto the ring finger before pressing a kiss over it. They walk to their room and close the door before Dean pulls Cas back to him and tenderly kisses him. 

It isn’t the kind of kiss that leads to heavily making out, devouring each other, tearing off the other’s clothes, and falling into bed. It isn’t the kind of kiss that’s appropriate for public either. It’s something secret, sacred, between two loves when they have too much to say to each other so they opt to say nothing at all. It speaks of time lost and gained, hearts joined and broken, grief and loss, reassurance and compassion. They are understood and loved by each other and all of it is said silently. 

When they do go to their bed, Dean stares up at the ceiling in the dark. His first night in the 1800s, he had been alone. The quilts were heavy and thick, trapping the heat with him while the night air remained chilled. The bed had been massive. That bed had been everything. It had been where he slept alone before he brought Cas there and made love to her. It had been their wedding bed and where their daughter was born. The bed he’s in now had been the first in his adult life that he could really call his. Every other one had been a cheap motel bed that he could feel the springs through. This bed was where a majority of Dean and Cas had done their sneaking around. It’s memory foam, but can it remember as much as his other bed could? 

“You need to sleep, Dean,” Cas whispers. Dean turns so he can rest his head on Cas’ chest. 

“I can’t sleep.” Dean suddenly gets up and strips, throwing his twenty-first-century clothing to the floor and hugging himself. Cas moves with less violent movements but he does the same before they both get back into bed. “I feel like my world just exploded.”

“You’re alright. I’ve got you,” Cas says softly, his arms wrapping around him. Dean’s lips brush Cas’ softly. Cas kisses back. It’s slow enough that Dean can feel the gentle parting of their lips. His hand moves up Cas’ jaw and around to the back of his head, the thick hair weaving between his fingers. 

Cas’ hands are strong and comforting on Dean’s body. One remains on Dean’s hip, gripping with just enough pressure to promise that he’s not going anywhere. The other gently pushes Dean onto his back and runs up his side. 

Dean pulls Cas down so they’re pressed together, the weight of his husband keeping him rooted to this bed, this moment, this year. There’s no light in the room and Dean’s eyes are closed, but he can still see blue. It crashes over him in calming waves. 

“I would heal your broken heart if I could,” Cas murmurs. “My touch is useless to this hurt.” 

“It’s not useless. Touch me,” Dean whispers back, his lips still against Cas’. Dean feels his jaw cupped by Cas’ hand as their kisses resume and deepen. It’s all slow and careful. Healing. Their legs are tangled together, their lips barely parting long enough for their breath to mingle between them. Dean’s fingers dig into Cas’ body, needing reassurance that he’s here. Neither of them are going anywhere. This is real. 

“Dean…” 

“Cas,” Dean answers, his voice unable to go louder than a breath. “Please.” Cas’ hand leaves his face and he leans over the side of the bed. The drawer of the side table opens. He doesn’t bother closing it again. He lifts himself away from Dean’s body just enough to reach between them. He muffles Dean’s sharp inhale with another kiss as he rubs the lube in. “I need you,” Dean says into Cas’ mouth. 

“I’m here, Dean.” Cas pushes gently into Dean and they both muffle their gasps with the other’s mouth. He moves slowly until he’s buried in Dean, their hips pressed together. Dean reaches for Cas’ hand desperately. When he finds it, their fingers lace together and they both tighten their grip on the other. Cas’ rhythm remains slow. He can feel every inch of him sliding in and out of him carefully. 

Dean moans though he doesn’t mean to. Cas swallows it, his tongue stealing it from Dean’s mouth. He knows he won’t be able to come no matter how good it feels. His legs wrap tighter around Cas’ hips, clinging to him in every possible way. 

“Cas,” Dean whimpers into him. 

“I’m yours,” Cas breathes. 

Cas pushes all the way in again, a little harder than the rest of the slow lovemaking. He groans and Dean feels himself filled. He moans with him, pulling Cas down again. He’s crushed under him, his hand in his grip, his ass filled with him, his lips locked with his, his mouth filled with his tongue. How much closer could they get? He feels protected, grounded, here with Cas. 

“Dean,” Cas whispers when his orgasm finishes. They’re still clutching each other like the lifelines they are for the other. He’s still pressed all the way inside of Dean. Neither of them move, their noses brushing together as they tease another kiss. Both of them are breathing too hard for another yet. 

Dean releases him, his legs falling to the sides so Cas can pull out of him. He’s reluctant to let go, but he knows he has to. Cas falls to Dean’s side and pulls him against his chest. Dean feels some come leak, drooling out and wetting his thigh. He doesn’t move. 

“I’ll be here to watch over you,” Cas promises. His arms are tight around Dean, a security blanket. “I love you, Dean Winchester.” 

“I love you,” Dean answers. He shuts his eyes and feels betrayed by his body when he starts to fold under the Sandman’s will. As he drifts off to sleep, he dreams of blue and green. 


	21. Chapter 21

Sam and Dean sit opposite each other in the Library. The coffee that Dean is drinking was basically instant. It’s not as dark. Not as rich. He doesn’t say anything, taking another sip as he waits for whatever Cas is doing. Sam taps his fingers on the table like he’s not sure what to do with himself in this moment. Dean doesn’t have the answer. 

“Are you sure you’re ready to unpack all of this? We don’t have to do this now,” Sam says. He’s looking at Dean like he had when Dean had the Mark. Like a bomb that’s about to go off. 

“Mm…” Dean nods. “I have to know what happened to my family.” He readjusts in his seat, uncomfortable calling people Sam never met his family. But that’s what they are...were. Izzie was his sister. Jeeves was… Well, Jeeves was something else. Maybe not a brother. Definitely not a father. Maybe that older cousin who knows social etiquette. He’d had an entire family of in-laws who had attended his wedding. He’s pretty sure that if he saw Balthazar right now, he’d hug him. 

Cas walks into the room with a box that looks like it weighs more than Cas can carry alone. He takes a seat beside Dean and rests the box on the table in front of him. 

“You can ask questions. You can read everything I have. After this day, I don’t think I can talk about this again,” Cas says. “I have waited over two hundred years to talk about this, but I’m finding it harder than I thought it would be.” 

“It’s okay, Cas,” Sam says. Dean feels the same. He desperately needs to know about what happened, but if he spends another day trying to relive the past instead of move ahead with his future, he’s not sure he’ll be able to function. 

“How are you feeling, Dean?” Cas asks. 

“Aces.” He nods toward the box. “What’s in it?”

Cas takes the lid off and lifts a book out. It’s the kind of scrapbook or photo album with the cling plastic sheets to protect whatever you put between the pages. The kind Dean has never owned but has seen in movies and on the shelves of homes that he’s walked through. 

The book is put in the center of the table and Dean opens it. The very first page is a photograph of the front of Dean’s manor. The picture was obviously taken this century, the colors vibrant, some of the trees missing, but that’s his home. Dean smiles a little and looks at Cas. 

“Is that yours?” Sam asks, excitedly pulling the book closer to him as he inspects the picture. “This is a mansion!” 

“Yeah. Imagine not knowing this is where you live and the chauffeur just drops you off at this place like it’s no big deal,” Dean laughs. It feels good even if it is unexpected. 

“Did you have a butler?”

“I had a butler!” He’s excited for a moment before his heart clenches around the name. “Jeeves.” 

“Your butler’s name was Jeeves?”

“Mr. Butler,” Cas corrects him, “allowed Dean to call him Jeeves.” Dean smiles sadly and nods. He turns the page and sees nothing but newspaper clippings. 

“Marriages,” Sam reads, “ _ Mr. Dean Winchester to Grace, daughter of William Novak. _ Novak? Like..? Like  _ Jimmy and Claire Novak _ Novak?”

“Grace is the sister of Jimmy’s great something grandpa,” Dean says before looking at Cas. “Right?”

“Seven generations removed, yes,” Cas says with a single nod. Dean nods proudly. He was right. 

“What’s that?” Dean asks, sliding the book back to him. “Mr. Hughes married  _ Sarah Brown _ ? She didn’t even like him! When is this from?” 

“I saved that because you were invested,” Cas says. “They married in June.” 

“I’m sorry, what? What is happening right now?” Sam interrupts, looking from Dean to Cas and back. 

“Miss Brown had it bad for Mr. Smith so I thought they were going to bite the bullet and get married. There were rumors starting to spread she was having his bastard and everything. Game changer that she married Mr. Hughes of all people. He was ancient, too.” Dean shakes his head and pushes the book back to Sam. 

“O...kay?” He looks back down and reads another. “Deaths… Suddenly and in the prime of life, Mr. Dean Winchester along with Mrs. Grace Winchester and infant Samantha Winchester.”

Mr. Butler steps out of the mail coach he had taken a ride to the Winchester Estate in. His luggage is not a chore to carry, so he lifts it out alone and bids his friend goodbye before turning to walk up the long path. It is only early April, but the air is warm and the flowers are beginning to bud. He takes a deep breath in. Holiday lasted a week and he had spent it visiting his mother’s family. 

As he draws nearer to the manor he notices something odd. The air feels still. The windows are broken again like they had done December last on the day Miss Samantha came into the world. The front doors are ajar. He had been on his way to the servant’s entrance, but stops, dropping his luggage on the path before walking up the steps to the entrance. 

“Mr. Winchester?” Mr. Butler calls out as he steps into the foyer. There is no answer, but every surface seems to be covered in glass. A vase that sat just there is shattered on the floor. “Mrs. Winchester?” Mr. Butler has rarely felt the foreboding sensation of dread. He often had a cool head about things and had managed to keep himself from feeling such stress even when Miss Clarke had fallen to her knees to pray during the snowstorm. Currently, his stomach is tied into knots. 

The floor by the stairs is darkened with a deep red stain. It cannot be what it looks like. Mr. Butler takes a step away from it and makes his way to the drawing room. “Mr. Winchester?” 

Mr. Butler is not one to exaggerate. He is proper and well versed in etiquette and how to perform most tasks. No one informed him how to deal with a loss of this magnitude. He feels as if his blood has run cold and time has stopped. The drawing room is Mr. Winchester’s favorite room. It had seemed arbitrary when Mr. Winchester had announced it once, but it has gained every drop of significance since that moment. 

Mrs. Winchester is dead. In her arms that are soaked through with… Samantha. The child does not cry and Mr. Butler cannot move. Chills go down his spine and he becomes vaguely aware that he is shaking. His face is wet and someone is screaming. He takes another step into the room and sees Mr. Winchester. Mr. Butler stumbles backward and slams into the wall. Everyone is pale as sheets, the deep red on and around them a stark contrast. Mrs. Winchester’s eyes no longer hold that intense blue that Mr. Winchester wrote poetry of as he played his piano. Mr. Winchester is broken, his face beaten in. Mr. Butler empties the contents of his stomach and only then does he realize that the screams had been his. 

Mr. Butler does not recall actually telling the constable of the murder at the Winchester Estate. He is not very aware of much of anything at all until Miss Isabel Novak arrives. 

“Miss Novak,” Mr. Butler says, standing between her and the scene that no person with a delicate soul should ever have to see. “I pray you will not see them like this.”

“Like what?” she demands. Tears are already in her eyes. She already knows. “I need to see my sister!” She does not push him out of the way or step around him as she so easily could. She surprises him by hugging him as she begins to weep. Her chaperone stands at the door at a loss for words. Mr. Butler stays still as the young girl cries against him, showing her hysterics as he would much like to do if it were appropriate. He is far from sure when his own terror had turned into an invasive numbness, but that is the only word for how he is coping with the current situation: numb.

“What happens now, Jeeves?” Miss Isabel asks, teary-eyed. 

He is no longer Jeeves. Not to a living soul. His badge is gone, crestfallen as he is, into a pool of blood. “My name is Butler, Miss Novak,” he says stiffly. “I haven’t the faintest idea what happens now.” 

Sam flips through the pages for a moment, searching for something with his eyebrows knitted together in that research student type of way. Dean sits back and waits for his brother to announce whatever it is that he can’t find. 

“Did no one look into the murders?” Sam finally asks. Lawyer Sam makes rare appearances, but it’s moments like these that Dean is sorry he ever pulled his brother out of school and away from a future of courtrooms and steady income. “Three people were massacred in their home and no one even looked?”

“How did I have a body there?” Dean asks, looking over at Cas instead of answering any of Sam’s questions. 

“I would guess Balthazar helped cover up your disappearance once the angels were gone and he was safe to flee,” Cas says after a moment. “Though, I didn’t see him again and thought him dead until 2010.”

“Right.” Dean nods. Angels. 

“The police force was a new idea then, to answer your question, Sam. It was, quite literally, another time.” Sam looks frustrated on their behalf, but Dean can’t be mad. If they had looked into the murders and people had been relying on the conviction of criminals as a way of closure then no one would have gone on with their lives. The culprits were in Heaven torturing the shit out of Cas. 

Dean takes the book back from Sam and scans through the clippings. “ _ Marriages. Mr. Timothy Wilkes to Miss Isabel, daughter of William Novak.  _ August 1814. They did it, Cas!” Dean looks up at Cas, beaming. They broke the mold. 

“Daughter of William Novak?” Sam asks. 

“Cas’ sister, Izzie,” Dean says. “She got to marry her footman.” 

“I can’t believe you told me his name was Fred,” Cas sighs, shaking his head.

“Let it go. It’s been two hundred years, Cas.” 

Isabel sits in her father’s office with her new fiance, Tim Wilkes. She cannot believe what she is hearing. Perhaps she misheard. She looks to Tim but he looks just as shocked as she does. How is her father calm? 

“Do you understand what it is I am telling you?” her father asks when she fails to answer him. 

“Dean left Tim and I  _ everything _ ?” she repeats, dumbfounded. The conditions of this were simple. She was to marry for love, more specifically, the footman by the name of Timothy Wilkes. Upon their union, every deed except one cottage, and every last pence that remained after his one other benefactor had collected was to be inherited by Isabel and Timothy. 

When they marry, Tim and Isabel take a tour of the Winchester Estates, their estates, to find a suitable home. All except one. She refuses to enter one. 

“Where’s Jeeves?” Dean asks, skimming through the snippets of articles. “Why isn’t there any mention of him?” 

“He was a butler, Dean,” Cas says softly. “There wouldn’t be mention of him.” 

“He was more than a butler,” Dean argues, flipping furiously. “Did he get the money that I left him? Did he move into the cottage? Who did he work for? Were they good to him? I have to know that he’s okay!” 

“He has been in Heaven since 1818.” Cas stops the flipping on the right page and there it is.  _ Deaths. Mr. Franklin Butler.  _ It says more, but Dean’s eyes are blurring. Cas’ hand on Dean’s calms him and brings him back. Jeeves isn’t around. It’s been a long ass time. He isn’t still kicking no matter how long he lived after… Wait. Five years? “Five years? That’s it?” 

“He was old for the times,” Cas tells him. “Forty-five in those days was a long life for someone in his position.” He wishes he didn’t know like Jeeves hadn’t known about his brother. 

Sam takes the book and looks through the pages as Dean folds himself into Cas, trying to breathe. Trying not to cry. If he cries again, he’ll be crying forever. Cas rests his cheek on the top of Dean’s head as he holds him. 

“Winchester Art Exhibit?” Sam whispers. The pages turn slowly as he geeks out. “Wait… This is you.” Dean pulls away from Cas and looks over at Sam who is staring, dumbfounded, down at the page in front of him. On the page is that charcoal drawing of Dean taking an afternoon nap, top hat beside him. The others are of sunsets and stars. There is one of Dean’s hands on a piano. “Drawn by Mrs. Grace Novak. Estimated 1812. Cas, you can draw? Like this?”

“Not anymore,” Cas says in a clipped way that tells Dean there’s more to the story that he’s unwilling to share. “The manor was turned into a museum. No one had lived there since us. Isabel had refused to move in or sell it. Your pianos are still there. Our bed. The wall of paintings.” 

_ Well, this is a wall of paintings. _

“Is tea still served at two?” Dean asks. Cas smiles a little.

“Tea will always be at two, Mr. Winchester.” 

Their eyes lock, blue and green colliding like the centuries they crossed. Through their loss, they still have each other. It still hurts, his heart is still broken, but he can feel Cas’ careful hands around it, keeping the pieces together as they mend themselves back together. 

Cas hears a familiar sound and follows it through the Bunker until he arrives at a door that’s left slightly ajar. He pushes it open and finds Dean, his sleeves rolled up to his elbows as his hands stretch over the ivory keys. He glances over his shoulder and smiles crookedly. 

“Want to play?” Dean asks, moving on the piano bench to make room for Cas. 

“I can’t play,” Cas says, taking the seat anyway. “Heaven took it from me. I can no longer sing, play the piano, or paint. I am no nineteenth-century lady of high breeding. I’m just a broken angel with singed wings, Dean.” 

“It’s okay. I’ll teach you.” He stands and places himself behind him, pressing his chest to Cas’ back as he places his hands gently over his. 

“Our song,” Cas whispers. Dean plays the piano through Cas’ fingers, carefully guiding.

“ _ So close, no matter how far _ ,” Dean sings quietly, still embarrassed of his gorgeous voice. He knows that to human ears, Dean’s singing may not be something special. To Cas, it is everything. He can hear the small fluctuations of pitch, the small emotional wavers, the spaces as he takes in soft breaths. 

“My husband,” Cas breathes, closing his eyes as he leans into Dean. 

“My husband,” Dean answers, kissing the top of his head. 

It’ll never go back to normal, and for once, that is a comforting thought. They are forever changed, lives molded by love, scarred with multitudes of loss. But they share both. Their love survives them. In an out of time. 


	22. Chapter 22

All art done by the wonderful [diminuel](https://diminuel.tumblr.com/post/629156975466381312/here-are-some-illustrations-and-sketches-for-out)!


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